


And You Were Not So Old

by orphan_account



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alcoholism, Anxiety, Depression, Fiddauthor is NOT main focus, Ford has anxiety, Gen, M/M, Mermaids, Metaphors, Minor Violence, Nobody Dies, Note that there's no major character death tag, Sea Grunkles, Sea Monsters, Self Harm, Severe Illness, Stan has depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Swearing, but it contributes to the plot, lots of metaphors, so many metaphors
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-09-14 00:26:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9148660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Stan and Ford are enjoying sailing around the world when Ford detects that something is very wrong with Stan. Things get more complicated when the mammoth of the sea begins to pursue them. Now both brothers must compete with weather, sea monsters, and various mental and physical health issues in order to stay alive, but can they both make it?Remember when the days were youngAnd you were not so oldThe sea was all you knew and lovedThe mast, the sky, your homeThe stars, the wind, the mist and fogThe wild sea by nightDid dance upon your every thoughtAnd gave to each delightBut now you sit upon the landWithout a ship at your commandWith only thoughts of a bygone pastYou sit and wish the years were youngAnd you were not so old-"The Sea Captain" by Roland Ruiz





	1. Mare Lacrimarum

**Author's Note:**

> I am so, so sorry.

“Stanford?”

“Hmmm?”

“You okay, bro?”

The sea rocked the _Stan O’ War II_ while a blanket of stars glittered overhead like one of Mabel’s sweaters. They had set sail a few days ago, after the kids had left Gravity Falls. Stanford was leaning on the railing, staring out at the barely-visible horizon, letting the salty breeze do what it liked with his curly grey hair.

“Yeah,” he said flatly. He tried not to let the lump in his throat get the better of him, which was made harder when Stan put a hand on his shoulder and drew him closer in a comforting hug. “Yeah, Stanley. I’m fine.”

He felt Stan nod. They were silent together for a moment, then Stan asked, “So what’s bothering you?”

The older twin sighed and straightened, pulling himself away from his almost overly-affectionate twin. “It’s nothing, Stan. Go back to bed.”

Stan shook his head. “Nah, I’m not sleeping till you do.” He stretched and made an exaggerated groaning noise. “And anyway, my back aches. Can’t get to sleep for the life of me.”

Stanford forced a laugh. “Nonsense. You were sound asleep when I came out here.”

“Eh, your nerdy research was boring.” Stan’s face grew serious once more. “But seriously, Poindexter, what’s goin’ on?”

Ford sighed. Might as well tell him. Hiding things from his brother was impossible. “Stan,” he began, “I--”

They were interrupted suddenly by a gigantic _thud_ and the dramatic listing of the boat. “Ah!” Stan shouted. “I’ll get the harpoon! Maybe it’s that sea serpent you’ve been ranting about!”

“I do not rant,” Ford replied irritably as he whipped out a camera and his journal. “I’ll try to get some photographs awhile!”

When Stan had disappeared into the cabin, Ford took a moment to wipe the seawater from his eyes. At least, he told himself it was seawater.

* * *

Stan, to say the least, was worried. He was very worried about Stanford. He didn’t know exactly when it had started--it was hard to keep track of time out on the open ocean--but Ford had been acting worryingly for a while. He’d stopped sleeping well--stopped sleeping at all, really--and Stan had often caught him sneaking a sip from his flask of something that definitely wasn’t water, even though Stan thought he’d managed to stop his brother’s alcoholic tendencies.

He really shouldn’t be worrying; Ford was probably just having one of his mood swings. He got like this sometimes: he had relapses where he stopped sleeping for weeks and spent all his time trying to save the world from Bill before Stan came over and made him a cup of tea and talked to him about how they defeated the God-awful top-hatted eldritch nacho, and then Ford would cry and feel guilty once again for calling him worthless and erasing his memories and Stan would comfort him and hold him until one or both of them fell asleep.

But somehow, Stan felt that this was different and much, much worse. Normally Ford would just tell him. So why wasn’t he? And Ford seemed sad, not anxious. So awfully, terribly sad.

“Stan! Get out here!” Ford shouted.

Well, he seemed a little better. Stan decided to set the issue aside for later. He snatched up the harpoon and dashed outside. “Got it!” he yelled.

And he froze. There, in a net dangling in the air, was a woman. A very beautiful woman. Her skin was smooth and a periwinkle blue, and her hair was a silvery white. Instead of legs, though, her body tapered seamlessly at the hips into a beautiful, graceful, pale blue tail. She stared at the pair of twins with cold grey eyes.

“Hi,” Ford said enthusiastically. “I’m Stanford Pines. I’m sorry I had to catch you in my net but--”

She opened her mouth very wide, exposing needle-sharp teeth, and hissed angrily.

“Stanley, drop the harpoon,” Ford chided. “She feels threatened.”

Stan reluctantly dropped the weapon. “Stanford--”

“Shh. I want to get an interview.” Ford stepped forward. “As I was saying,” he resumed, “I’m Stanford Pines. I’m a researcher of anomalies and the paranormal across the world, and I really wanted to get an interview with you. And maybe some photographs.”

The mermaid wriggled in the net and hissed again. “Ford,” Stan tried again, “I don't think--”

Ford, annoyingly, shushed the increasingly irked Stan. “Let's see,” he barreled on, “can I have your name?”

“We do not give our names to land-caged two-tails,” the mermaid breathed, her voice unbearably cold and beautiful. “Put me back.”

“But--” Ford pouted.

“Do it, Poindexter,” Stan barked. “You're hurting her.”

Stan, unlike his insufferably nerdy brother, had detected what seemed like thin, veiny white cracks spreading across the mermaid’s icy blue skin. “She's dehydrating, ya blind owl,” Stan added. “In case you forgot, the fish-people can't live out of water.”

Stanford’s eyes grew very large. “I am _so sorry,_ ” he gasped, “I'll let you out right away.”

With a splash, the net was dropped into the ocean and the mermaid swam away without a backward glance. “Wow,” Ford sighed, “A real mermaid.” He began scribbling down notes. “It seems that Arctic merfolk are paler than more northern ones.”

Stan grinned fondly at his brother, though he was still worried. Now he understood some of Ford’s pain when he had the occasional memory lull. Jesus, what was so terrible that Ford couldn't even say it to his twin?

Stan shook his head and eyed the still sea uneasily. He felt like someone--or something--was watching him. The stars glared down like millions of eyes, and he shuddered as he turned back to face his brother. “So, Sixer,” he said lightly, “what was it you wanted to tell me?”

Stanford flinched. “N-nothing,” he stammered  unconvincingly. “Come on, we should go to bed.” He hastily entered the ship’s cabin and left Stan to wonder, frowning, at what exactly was on Ford’s mind.

* * *

When Stanford was absolutely certain that his brother was asleep, he descended from his top bunk, grabbed a small boxlike device, and re-re-read the data that showed up on its tiny screen. “No,” he whispered, the syllable filled with anger and despair. Then, disregarding his sleeping brother and the rather flimsy construction of the box, he flung the device across the small cabin room with a scream.

Stan’s bleary but concerned gaze found the scientist a minute later, kneeling on the floor and sobbing. “Stanford,” he said worriedly, “you've gotta tell me what's wrong. I can't help if you don't.” Ford looked up at his brother and Stan reeled from the pain in Ford’s wet, red-rimmed brown eyes. “S-Sixer?” the younger twin said uncertainly. “Everything okay there, bro?” He forced a smile, trying to get a similar expression from Ford.

Something came over Ford’s face for a moment--was it rage? Protectiveness?--before the older twin nodded and said, “I’ll be fine.”

Stan opened his mouth to say something else, but Ford wrenched himself away and headed back to bed. Neither twin slept much more that night.

* * *

Stanford was up early that morning researching. He had to find a way to make it all go away. He had to find a way to make this not true. There had to be a solution.

He couldn’t help but smile when he heard his brother groaning in the other room as he sat up and stretched. “Ford,” Stan croaked as he rolled out of bed, “did you make coffee?”

“Absolutely,” Ford replied. “It’s in the kitchen.” He took a sip from his third cup that morning and watched Stan shuffle from the tiny bedroom to the miniscule kitchen. “How do you feel?”

“‘M okay,” Stan mumbled, pouring some coffee into a mug, dumping what looked like half a bag of sugar in, and taking a large swig. “Why?”

“Just...checking.”

“Oh….Okay.” Stan paused, rubbed at his eyes, scratched himself. “How ‘bout you?”

“Hm?” Ford looked up from the article he’d been reading on his laptop.

“You...doin’ okay?”

Ford went back to studying the article with renewed vigor. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he muttered.

“What’re you reading?” Stan asked curiously.

“N-nothing.” Ford quickly minimized the tab. “I wonder if we’ve gotten anything from the kids.”

Stan’s face brightened. “Yeah! Let’s see if they sent us anything.”

Ford mentally sighed with relief and opened their email. Sure enough, there was an unread message from _PineTree._ It read,

 _Hi, Grunkle Ford and Grunkle Stan!_  
_I hope you guys are having fun in the Arctic. Mabel and I haven’t had much going on lately, except for that one kid I told you about. I said what you told me to, and he left me alone! I don’t think he’ll be bothering me again._  
_HI GUYS!!!!!!! IT’S MABEL!!!!!! I HIJACKED DIPPER’S COMPUTER TO SEND YOU GUYS A HAPPY MESSAGE!!!!!!! WE’RE GONNA BE COMING OVER FOR CHRISTMAS BREAK !!!!!!!_  
_And...Mabel spoiled the surprise. Of course. But yeah, we’re coming over for Christmas, so you guys had better be ready for us!_  
_Lots of love,_ _  
_ Dipper (AND MABEL!!!!)

Stan laughed. “Gotta love those two,” he sighed.

Ford nodded. “Absolutely.” _He doesn’t have that much time._ He felt his heart shatter into a million pieces at that thought.

“Think we should spoil them, bro?”

Ford nodded. “I think so.” He put on a false smile.

 _I’ve got to tell him,_ he told himself.

Apparently, Stan could see through his false smile. “You’re not okay,” he said bluntly.

Ford’s insides filled with lead. His heart seemed to sink into the floor. “Look,” he sighed, and opened the article.

Stan stared at the page for a long time, reading over every detail, then looked at his brother with wide eyes. “Sixer...y-you’re not….?” The man’s voice was broken.

“No, Stan. It’s you.” The tears crept into his tone. “It’s...it’s you. Y-you’re...you’re dying, Stanley.”

A multitude of emotions warred for dominance on the younger twin’s rugged face. A tinge of fear, a moment of panic, a flash of pain, a fleeting expression of sadness, then it settled on anger. Despite the look on his face, Stan’s voice was a deadly calm. “How long have you known?”

Ford cringed. “A week, maybe.”

The furrows in Stan’s brow deepened as his face became set with rage. “Every time I caught you crying. Drinking. Studying until the buttcrack of dawn. Every time you were distant! Come on, Stanford! Why didn’t you just tell me?” By the end he was shouting, and Ford felt like digging a hole to the center of the earth and leaping in.

“Because...then it would be real.” Ford began to sob. “It would be real and then I’d lose you again and I didn’t want it to be _real._ ”

Stan’s entire demeanor instantly changed. “Stanford.” The syllable was soft, gentle, and sad. Two strong hands rested on the scientist's heaving shoulders. “It’s okay.”

And then Stanford’s entire being was welling up with unrighteous fury, and he flung himself at his brother and held him tight, tighter, too tight, and he muffled a yell into the muscular shoulder and shouted that it _wasn’t_ okay, that Stan shouldn’t just be _accepting_ it, that he had to _fight_ and he had to _live_ and he couldn’t just _die._ The yelling died down to sobbing, muffled syllables of _I love you_ and _You can’t leave me_ and _I can’t be alone again_. Whispers next, selfish words he didn’t want Stan hearing, awful words that he could barely form, and then it was just silent tears as he clutched at the solid figure of the man he couldn’t live without.

* * *

Stan was, surprisingly, absolutely okay with the thought of dying. It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about it a million times when he was young. It was, however, new to be having these thoughts now that he had his brother back.

He held Stanford as he shook and screamed and cried, but his own mind was blank. So what if he died? He, as far as he was concerned, had fulfilled his purpose. What was the point in staying alive when he’d brought his brother back and stopped Bill? There was nothing else for him to do other than get older, and that wasn’t very pleasant.

Besides, Ford had proven to him that he could survive without him. He’d spent forty years without Stan, he could last several more.

But the kids couldn't.

It was the thought of the kids that finally made Stan feel opposed to it, honestly. Those twins really loved him, and he didn’t think they’d take too kindly to him dying. So, at length, he rubbed Ford’s back and said, “I’m gonna fight it, okay? I’ll do it for the kids.” Ford nodded, still pressing his face into Stan’s bulky chest like a child. Stan chuckled. “Heh, can’t get rid of me that easily, Sixer.”

When Ford looked up at Stan, the latter was astonished to see a little bit of anger still present on his face. “Hey, what’s this all about?” Stan asked worriedly.

“Why are you only doing it for the kids?”

“Stanford--”

“Why aren’t you doing it for yourself? Why...why aren’t you doing it for me?” The last sentence was a whisper.

“S-Sixer--”

“Don’t you realize you have more to do? Don’t you think you can try to live for yourself for once?” Ford’s twelve fingers had an iron grip on Stan’s coat. “Don’t you think that maybe there’s more to your life than just saving other people?”

“Because that’s all I’ve ever been good for!” Stan suddenly roared, and Ford went very still and very quiet. “All I’ve ever done is save you, save the kids, save the town, save the world. It’s never been about me, and it’s never gonna be about me! It’s never gonna be any different, so why should I try?”

“Because...this time, it _is_ about you.” Stan could barely hear the words. “It’s my turn to save _you._ ”

There was a long silence, during which Ford once again leaned against Stan and Stan resumed gently rubbing his brother’s shuddering back. Then, finally, Stan asked, “What are we gonna tell the kids?”

“The truth, I guess.”

Another silence. “How long do I have?”

“Maybe three months, if you’re lucky. It’s been in you for a while.”

“What kind is it again?”

“It’s chronic myeloid leukemia. It’s slow-acting.”

“When are the symptoms gonna start showing up?”

“You probably already have them. They’re very vague symptoms.”

“And you’re certain I’ve only got three months.”

“Yes. According to my data, the leukemia has already grown enormously. It’s almost impossible to treat now. We’ll do what we can but...there’s no point in treating you now, it’s already spread through your body. Any treatment we give you would basically just kill you faster.”

“Is it...is it gonna be bad?”

A pause. Then, “Yeah.” The word was a caught breath, a half-syllable. “Yeah, it’s gonna be bad.”

“And...does us being twins mean anything?”

“I...probably will not have it, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Stan nodded. “Good.”

Ford looked at Stan seriously and said, “I love you,” before going back to his laptop and continuing to read the article.

“Hey. Bro. Don’t you get all obsessive again, okay? We can still have adventures until...well….”

Ford winced. “I’m just...trying to figure out what’s going on. I need to know what to expect.”

Stan nodded slowly. “Lookin’ forward to some more monster hunts later today, Sixer. Don’t let me down, okay?”

Ford took a gulp of coffee and said, “Yeah, okay.” Stan doubted he’d heard a word.


	2. Mare Pacem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The kids find out, Stan deals with acceptance, and Ford struggles with anxiety.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at me, updating on time! This probably won't happen again.  
> Warnings for mentions of severe illness, suicidal ideation, and hints towards past child abuse.

A chipper electronic song began to play from the laptop, startling Stanford so badly that he spilled his fifth mug of coffee all over his lap. He muffled a curse as he answered the video call from the twins, then began to clean up his mess. “Stan!” he called over his shoulder. “They’re on!”

Stan appeared in the cabin so fast that Ford nearly spilled his coffee all over again. “Kids!” he cried happily, and shoved Ford out of the way to get to the web camera. “How’ve ya been?”

“A _ ma _ zing, now that we know we can spend Christmas with you!” Mabel shrieked.

“Yeah!” Dipper called from the background. 

“So, did you guys catch any monsters?” the boy continued, pushing his sister over to get some room.

“Well, we caught a mermaid, but Sixer here decided that he’d just keep her out of the water for a while and--”

“You didn’t kill her, did you?” Mabel gasped.

“No, of course not!” Stanford interjected, glaring at Stan.

“Did she know Mermando? Was she pretty? Oooh, what was her name?”

“We didn’t get much out of her, but yes, she was beautiful,” Ford said, throwing away a wad of paper towels. “Her skin was pale blue, and her hair was silver and very long, and…”

Stan smiled as his brother rambled on, glad that for the moment his own situation was off of Ford’s mind. “...And a few days ago we caught sight of what could have been a Leviathan, but it was hard to tell.” Ford finished his list, and Stan noted the excited gleam in Dipper’s eyes.

“So, Mabel,” Stan said, “what’ve you been doing with yourself?”

“Lots of art classes,” the girl grinned. “Turns out, I’m really good at weaving. It’s kinda like knitting, really. I’ve been having a lot of fun.”

“And?” Stan prompted. He knew there was more.

“And...I’ve taken up boxing lessons,” Mabel added. “Because of you, of course. I’m gonna be stronger than Dipstick!”

“Don’t call me that!”

“Hey! I can bench your weight plus some, bro!”

“As if!”

Everyone dissolved into laughter as the twins’ bickering degenerated into a tickle fight.

“Did you guys get the sweaters I sent you?” Mabel asked once the chaos had dissolved.

“Absolutely,” Ford replied. “They’re incredibly soft and warm.”

“You did good, kid,” Stan praised.

“Well,” Ford muttered.

“Huh? What was that you said, Poindexter?” Stan elbowed his twin in the ribs.

“I said, ‘Well.’ She did  _ well. _ Not ‘good’. Grammar, Stanley.” Ford maintained a straight face, but his eyes glimmered with amusement..

“I’ll ‘Grammar, Stanley’ you!” Stan shouted, and commenced to tickle Ford until the older twin crashed to the floor in hysterics.

“Enough! Enough! I give!” Ford laughed.

Dipper and Mabel grinned at each other, sharing the love they could see through their web camera. “So, guys, about Christmas,” Dipper began once Ford and Stan had seated themselves again. “We’re coming over a week before the actual holiday.”

“To help you get into the Christmassy spirit!” Mabel chimed in. “We wanna help you decorate!”

Ford and Stan shared a look. “Uh, kids, about Christmas,” Stan began, his tone hesitant but unusually serious. “I’m kinda….” He reached over and grabbed Ford’s hand. He squeezed once for the comfort of both of them. “Kids, I’ve got….” He cleared his throat and looked down. He didn’t want to see the looks on the kids’ faces. “I….”

“Stanley is very sick, kids,” Ford said in his professional Trust-me-I’m-a-doctor voice. “We don’t think….we don’t think he’ll be able to see you on Christmas.”

There was an absolute silence. Nobody spoke. Nobody moved. Then, finally, Mabel managed to speak. “W-What is it?”

“It’s called--” Ford began, but Stan nudged him.

“It’s a kind of cancer,” Stan explained gently. “I...it’s been in my system for a long time, longer than most people were able to detect. ‘Sides, it’s not like I went to a doctor very often. But, kids...I’m okay right now. Don’t worry about me yet. It’s gonna hurt a little later, but right now, I’m fine. I can still talk to you, I can still hug my bro here, I’m still...I’m still happy.”

“How long do you have?” Dipper asked. His voice was strong but his eyes said otherwise.

“Sixer here says about three months, if I really fight.”

“And you’re gonna fight, right?” Mabel asked shakily.

“Absolutely, Pumpkin.” Stan grinned and Mabel smiled back, although it was a little tighter than it had been.

The four talked for another few minutes, discussing Stan’s situation, before the younger twins said they had to go to bed and, with “I love yous” a little more sincere than they ever had been, left the video call.

* * *

Stan was leaning on the railing by the bow of the boat, staring at the rippling waves ahead. He felt like an ocean: calm and bright on the surface, but underneath everything was dark and full of chaos and monsters and blood. But, he supposed, even through all the darkness and chaos and blood the sea was still full of life. Creatures as wondrous and strange as the thought of Stan dying. As wondrous and strange as the thought of having people love him. As wondrous and strange, even, as the idea that he still had a chance.

Yeah. He still had a chance. That was a nice thought. He still had a chance to give his brother all of him, to give the children all the love in his deteriorating bones, to prove to the world that Stanley Pines was not going to give up so easily like he almost did over thirty years ago.

He flung his head back, his long grey hair whipping in the salty wind, and shouted at the beautiful blue sky. It was a shout of defiance, a shout of acceptance, a shout of forgiveness, but it was also just a shout. A splash in the waters of a vast, vast sea.

Stanford must have heard the shout because he thundered onto the deck. Stan didn’t look behind him but he could tell that his twin had to have his gun out. “‘S okay, Ford,” he said over his shoulder. “Just got a little...excited.”

The scientist huffed before putting away the weapon. “You can’t scare me like that, Stan.”

“Don’t be scared,” Stan told him, finally turning to face his brother. “I may be dying, but I sure as hell won’t be goin’ now.” He laughed.

Silence.

“How did you figure it out?”

“What?”

“That I’m sick. What...made you look?”

Ford sighed. “I keep readers that check our vitals and physical health. I look at them every day. Yours happened to be showing some abnormal signs, so I did a closer reading. That’s...it.”

“Oh.” Stan glanced at his brother. His head was bowed, so Stan couldn’t see his expression. His hands clenched and unclenched. “Where are we heading?” Stan added, quickly changing the subject.

Ford’s head snapped up, face interested and eyes relieved. “Well,” he said, walking over to join his brother at the bow, “I’ve detected some anomalies a little closer to the Pole. I’m certain it’s a Leviathan, Stan.”

“Yeesh, aren’t those things supposed to be really big and really dangerous?”

“Yep! I’m...what do kids say these days...stoked!”

Stan chuckled and nudged Ford. “Nerd.”

The pair stood and watched the sea bend, bow, and part before their small boat for a long time. “Something’s watching us, Ford,” Stan said finally. “Feel it?”

“Mm.” Ford nodded.

“Think we should do anything about it?”

“Probably.”

Neither one moved.

A breeze gently rocked the boat.

“Ford?”

“Mm?”

“What do you think it’s like on the other side?”

The scientist’s face grew distant. “I don’t know,” he mused quietly. “I’d assume it’s quiet. Peaceful. Restful. Maybe it would be like sleeping for all eternity? Or maybe it’s chaotic, what with  _ all  _ the dead of the past. That could crowd things a little bit.”

“Maybe...it’s like the ocean,” Stan said. “Big and wide and amazing and combining everything, good and bad, into one...thing, that’s terrifying, beautiful, peaceful, and chaotic all at once.” He laughed. “But what do we know? Maybe there isn’t an other side. Maybe everything they taught us in the synagogue was a myth or a lie. Maybe all the legends are false and when we die, we just...die.” He examined the sea again, watched it thrash as it was cut apart by the boat. “But I hope wherever Pa went when he died ain’t a lot of fun.”

Ford laughed humorlessly. “You shouldn’t say that, it’s not...right.”

“Sorry.” Stan shrugged. “I’ve just...never had good memories of him.”

Ford nodded again. The salt spray was misting across the lenses of his glasses but he made no move to clean them off, instead letting the water slowly blur his vision. “I didn't realize that our home life wasn't...wasn't normal, until Fiddleford explained it to me one day when we were working on the portal,” he finally said.

Stan stared at a point far more distant than the horizon, probably reliving some old memory. “Remember...when I took you to a carnival?” he faltered. “That carnival on the boardwalk, remember? We were...what, nine? Ten?”

Ford laughed softly. “Yeah, I remember. I didn’t think it was such a good idea at the time, but you were really excited.”

“Well, I never told anyone but...I kinda stole the money to get the tickets.”

Ford chuckled again. “Really, Stan?”

“Heh, yeah. I thought it was a great idea.” Stan elbowed his brother. “And you had fun, right, Poindexter?”

“I suppose I did,” Ford conceded, then continued with a laugh. “You didn’t, though! Remember how terrified you were on the Ferris wheel? You gave up the top bunk pretty quickly after that.”

“Ah, can it, Ford,” Stan grinned, and threw a playful punch at his brother’s shoulder. “Anyway, I was remembering Pa’s reaction when we came home way past our bedtime.”

Ford winced. “O-oh?”

“Yeah,” Stan sighed, leaning farther over the rail. “Wish I hadn’t.”

“What have I said, Stan?” Ford asked gently. “All memories are important--”

“Even the bad ones,” Stan finished wearily. “I know. I just wish I didn't  _ have _ bad memories.”

Ford reached out a hand to touch his brother’s shoulder. “I know,” he said quietly. “I know.”

The pair stared out at the waves silently, sadly, thoughtfully, as the  _ Stan O’ War II _ cut through the rich blue waters towards the endless horizon.

* * *

It was late at night. Ford, the dork, was sound asleep on his stomach, arm hanging over the side of the bunk, glasses still on, and mouth slightly open. Stan smiled and looked at his mirror image for a moment before removing the nerd’s cracked glasses. Moses, but he loved him.

He walked out to stand right at the rail, leaned as far out as he could, and considered just hurling himself over. He didn't want his brother to have to watch him waste away slowly. He wanted it to be fast.

But he didn't. Was he scared of the depths of the ocean? Was he scared of the cold? Was he scared of the creatures under the surface? Or was he scared of what Ford would do when he woke up and Stan was gone?

_ I'm pretty damn selfless _ , he thought with a wry smile.  _ Tryin’ to decide how I die so my  _ brother _ is okay. _

He looked out at the stars. They stared back, as unimpressed as his father.  _ You'll never amount to anything,  _ Filbrick’s voice echoed in their harsh light.

_ “ _ That's not true,” Stan said aloud. “I saved the world. And Ford. And the kids.”

The stars were silent and cold. Hah, he sure told them.

Stan looked down at the ocean for a second opinion. It didn't answer, just roiled and thrashed like it was wounded. He took no comfort in that.

Stan didn't feel wounded, but he didn't feel empty like the stars, either. He felt...how did he feel? Heavy, he decided, and light. Old, but young. Weak and strong. He felt like he could save the world again, but he felt like he'd fail. Was this what acceptance felt like? Or was he just...giving up?

He sighed and turned to go back to bed. His hand lingered on the rail for a moment in a silent gesture of indecision, then he re-entered the cabin and rolled back into bed.

* * *

Ford’s eyes flew open. Stan. Where was Stan? Frantic, he slid down the ladder and tumbled to the floor. From his crumpled position he saw that Stan was sound asleep, and now that he was out of his frenzy, he could hear the soft snores that accompanied the rise and fall of his twin’s bulky chest.

A tremulous exhale of relief escaped Ford and his tense shoulders deflated. Stan was alive. He was alive. He was fine. He didn’t go through the portal, he didn’t get mutilated by Bill, he didn’t fall overboard, he wasn’t cold and still in a hospital bed. He was alive.

Ford shakily stood up and stumbled from the bedroom, up to the deck; he needed air.

The cold air rushed in to meet his face as he flung the door open. Ford stood for a long time, eyes closed, breathing. Then he looked to the stars for comfort. They glimmered warmly, as if they remembered the countless hours he’d spent charting them over thirty years before.  _ So many of them are different now _ , he thought. He remembered thirty years of jumping from solar system to solar system, planet to planet, universe to universe, dimension to dimension. Nobody knew the stars as well as he did.

The sea whispered softly as it ran millions of hands over the sides of the boat. Its collective voice murmured encouragement to him. His heart rate decreased. He felt calmer.

He looked up once more at the belt of the universe spread out before him. “Send help,” he whispered to his distant friends, or his fate, or God, or whatever. “Heaven knows I'm going to need it.” Then he returned to his bed and his dreams.

* * *

Deep beneath the sea, something watched them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave some kindness in the comments if you liked this! I'll see you next week!


	3. Umbra Noctem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a chat with Mabel, the two brothers begin to show signs of falling apart. Then, Stan sees something awesome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for depression, death mention, suicidal ideation, and alcoholism...basically Stan and Ford are really messed up.

“Grunkle Stan!” Mabel shrieked as soon as she answered his video call. “Are you okay? How are you feeling?”

“I'm fine, Pumpkin,” he laughed. “I just wanted to talk.”

“What’s Grunkle Ford doing?”

“Ah, he's off charting a course or tracking a sea monster or some other nerdy thing. Where’s  _ your _ brother?”

“He's off at some after-school technology thing. Mom and Dad are working, so I'm home alone. I was gonna work on an art project--but talking to you is better.” She beamed.

Stan wished he could ruffle her hair and pretend to brush off the affectionate remark, but the former he couldn't do through a screen and the latter would make the girl frown, so he just settled for a “Heh, thanks, gremlin” and a small but genuine grin.

“So, Grunkle Stan, what did you want to talk about?” the girl asked, leaning forward and resting her chin on the heels of her hands.

“Eh,” he replied, reclining a bit. “Just wanted to ask you if you’d maybe wanna see something cool?” He looked down a little awkwardly. “I mean, it's nothin’ special, but…”

“Grunkle Stan,” Mabel interjected, “of  _ course _ I wanna see something cool!” Her grin was like a flashlight to the eyes.

“Okay,” he said quietly. Then, a little louder, he said, “You better not laugh, runt.” He winked nervously before leaving the computer.

Mabel watched as he rummaged under the bottom bunk of his bed and pulled out a black case. Inside it was “A guitar?” she shrieked.

“Heh, yeah. My little project while Poindexter’s in his lab.” He brought the instrument back to his chair and strummed a few chords, tuning it carefully. “I know all the chords on this thing, thanks to Me-Tube tutorials.”

“Oooh, are you gonna play something?”

“Yeah. Ford's busy, so he can't laugh at me. I can't sing, I'm warnin’ you now.”

“That’s okay. If you're having fun, that's the only thing that matters.” She beamed again. “Go ahead!”

Stan took a deep breath to collect himself before strumming the first chord. He played the progression a few times, then started the first verse of “Hey Jude” by the Beatles. His voice was hoarse and frequently cracked with nerves or age but his face was soft and gentle.

He was so invested in his playing that he didn't even notice that, on his third song, a rich baritone voice joined him in Leonard Cohen's “Hallelujah.”

Mabel’s huge eyes grew even rounder with amazement at the sound of Stanford’s beautiful voice. Stan finished the song with a flourishing chord and grinned at Mabel. “You like it?” he asked.

“Do you take requests?” Ford said.

Stan jumped. “Oh! F-Ford, I wasn't expecting to see you here! I was just….” He fumbled but the self-proclaimed professional liar was out of lies. “Playin’ my guitar,” he finished.

“Stan, how long have you been teaching yourself?” his twin queried.

“Eh, well, I learned about...thirty-five years ago, but I forgot most of it till I found this old girl at a thrift store right before we set sail. Been teachin’ myself when you've been doing your nerd things.”

“Interesting.” Ford nodded, his mouth twitching with a barely-concealed smile. “But you never answered my question, Stanley.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“Do you take requests?”

Stan flushed. “Well, I...might. If ya pay up, nerd,” he added gruffly, trying to hide his embarrassment.

Ford smiled. “If you really want me to. I enjoy hearing you play.”

Stan cleared his throat and awkwardly strummed a few chords. “Well, I….”

“Could you play ‘Taking Over Midnight’ by &ndra?” Mabel cut in.

Stan blanched. “We will never mention that night.”

Ford shook his head fondly. “Really, though, Stanley.”

“Eh, I haven’t learned that many songs yet, so I dunno if I can play what you want to hear.”

“Alright,” Ford agreed. He grinned at his younger-by-fifteen-minutes brother, but the expression waned as he studied the guitar-wielding man. “You’re alright, Stan?” he asked.

Stan blinked. “Ah, yeah.” He glanced at Mabel. “I’m fine.” After a breath, he added, “Sorry Pumpkin. Gotta go.”

After about five minutes of goodbyes, Stan finally managed to end the call. As the screen went blank, so did his soul.

* * *

Ford examined his twin and found a sea. It thrashed and writhed as they looked at each other, Stan’s sea-blue eyes stormy and dark. As he looked, Ford began to fear that he would get swept away. When he finally forced his voice out of his suddenly constricting throat, he had to convince himself that he didn’t have to shout to be heard over the imagined wind. “Stan?”

He didn’t respond.

Ford tried a little more firmly. “Stanley. I need to know if you’re alright.”

His brother tilted his head down to stare at his hands, which fiddled with the guitar pick. “They’ll hate me,” Stan whispered.

“...Huh?”

“If--when I die. They’re gonna hate me.”

Ford’s jaw worked wordlessly. Finally, he managed to say, “The kids?”

He received a nod.

“Why would--” Ford swallowed. “Why would they hate you?”

“Well...at least….” Stan gulped. “...at least, they’re never gonna be the same.”

“How do you mean?”

“I know what it is to lose somebody, Stanford, especially somebody really close. It’s gonna...I’m gonna tear them apart if--when--I die. And they’re gonna hate me for it.”

“The kids could never hate you,” Ford tried to assure. “I don’t think Mabel even knows  _ how _ to hate.”

That almost coaxed a smile from Stan. Ford saw the corner of his mouth twitch before his expression once again became broken. “What about Dipper? He--he can get so angry. Will he...will he be angry with me? You’re more like him than me.” Stan finally looked up at Ford, pleading.

Ford blinked at the sudden tears in his eyes. “I don’t know,” he croaked as his throat constricted once again. “I don’t--I don’t know.”

“And what about--what about you?”

“Huh?” Once again, Ford had the words knocked right out of him.

“What are you gonna...I mean...I know you can survive without me...but still….”

“Stanley,” Ford whispered. “I just got you back. How do you--how do you  _ think _ I’m gonna...I mean….” He shook his head, trying desperately to hold in the tears. “God, Stan, you’re my  _ twin. _ We were never meant to survive without each other.”

Stan took his guitar and gently set it on the floor before standing and wrapping his arms tight around Ford. With tears in his voice, he said, “I’ve been waiting forever for you to say that, Poindexter.”

“I mean it. Every word,” Ford replied.

“Ford, is it okay to...be okay with dying?”

Ford startled. “What?”

“I’ve...been thinking a lot. I’m old. I’ve lived. I’ve got almost seventy years under my belt. I think...as long as everyone will be okay in the end...I can die in peace.”

“No!” Ford almost shouted, grabbing Stan’s shoulders and shaking him lightly. His eyes were wild. “No, no, do not go gentle into that good night! You can keep going!” His eyes went distant. “I...I think I can find a cure. I need to go do some...research.”

He pulled himself from Stan’s partial hug and strode from the room, back to his tiny lab, leaving Stan dazed and overwhelmed.

* * *

Three in the morning came around. Stan yawned and blinked his eyes. He saw a light shining in Ford’s lab. “Agh, Poindexter,” he groaned, slipping on his glasses. “I thought you’d grown outta this.”

Putting on his slippers, he shuffled into the lab. “Hey, Sixer,” he said gently, “you should get some sleep.”

“No, Stan,” Ford said blearily, clicking through articles on the laptop and flipping through various pages of his journal. “I need to find a cure.”

“What you need,” Stan insisted, “is to get some rest.” He grabbed his brother’s arm and tugged. “Come on, nerd. You can try to save me in the morning. Well--” he glanced at the clock-- “later in the morning.”

Ford feebly tried to shake off Stan’s hand but sleep weakened his struggles and Stan was strong. “Stanley,” he tried to protest, but Stan interrupted. 

“You’re falling asleep at the desk, Poindexter, come on.” He tugged again, gently, and Ford reluctantly stood up and followed his brother back to the bedroom. “You. Sleep. Now.” Stan said firmly, and shoved his brother towards the bunk bed.

“Stanley, what about you?”

“I was sleeping till you woke me up with your vicious battle against nature, Stanford Filbrick Pines,” Stan grinned. “Now sleep.”

Ford grumbled but shucked off his boots and sweater and climbed to his bunk still in his slacks, socks, and undershirt. “Hey, nerd,” Stan added. “Don’t forget the glasses.” But his twin was already asleep. With a sigh and a sad smile, Stan reached up and removed his sleeping brother’s eyewear.

* * *

 

Half an hour later found Stan once again on the deck, talking to the stars and staring at the sea. “Hey. So, uh, I can’t sleep,” he said to the universe. “Guess I’ve been thinking...and I don’t know if I wanna see this thing through. Better sooner than later, right?” He laughed quietly and looked down, picking at the wood of the railing. “So...I mean...could you make it quick? I’m not gonna do it myself, okay?” he added hastily, glancing at the stars, then the waves. “I’m not gonna...do it myself. They’d never forgive me. But could you...off me without cancer? In a nice way, I mean. I don’t wanna...don’t wanna go like that.”

The stars were cold and distant, but the ocean...the ocean seemed to warm itself as he spoke. Something about it seemed smoother, calmer, more caring. Like it understood.

But, of course, it couldn’t. Stan had just been up too late and needed to get some more rest.

There was that feeling again. The feeling that something was watching him. The feeling that there were eyes just under the glass-smooth waters of the sea. A chill crept up Stan’s spine. Something was off.

The ship rocked gently.

The moon glowed in the expanse of glittering darkness.

The stars judged him.

The sea knew.

And there it was. Stan saw it all of a sudden, illuminated for a brief instant by the dim glow of the half-waxed moon. It was a ripple, then a shimmer, then a fin. Then it was gone, sliding back into the depths. But Stan saw it, and he knew what he’d seen.

He burst into the bedroom, panting, gasping, shouting, “Ford! Stanford! I saw it! I saw the Leviathan!”

Stanford didn’t wake up. Stanley should have known better; once Ford was asleep, it was nearly impossible to wake him up. He didn’t really want to wake his brother anyway; he needed his rest.

“Well, I guess I should sleep, too. Though I could get some nice pictures and  _ just kidding let’s take some pictures!” _

Stan snatched up the camera and raced up onto the deck just in time to see an enormous tail rise high above the rippling waters about a hundred or so yards away. “Yes!” Stan cheered.  _ Click. Click click click.  _ Four photos later and the tail had splashed down with an enormous wave and the creature was gone.

“Gotcha!” Stan celebrated.

The feeling of being watched didn’t go away, though. He shuddered again, involuntarily, and made his way back inside. It was time for a drink.

* * *

Stan wasn’t sure how many bottles he’d emptied by the time Ford woke up. All he knew was that it was a lot. “Morning, Stanford,” he said.

“Stanley? Where’d you get all this bourbon? And why did you drink all of it? Oh, God, are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Stan slurred happily. “Fine.”

Ford massaged the bridge of his nose tensely. “Stanley, what did we talk about earlier this week?”

“Don’t remember.” A belch. “Don’t care.”

Ford hated those words:  _ Don’t remember.  _ “Stanley. Please. You have to stop.”

“Or what, Sixer?” Stan swayed, which was an impressive feat considering that he was sitting back in a chair.

“Or I’m going to throw every bottle of liquor overboard.”

Stan’s red-rimmed eyes widened almost imperceptibly. “You wouldn’t,” he protested weakly. “I  _ need _ this stuff.”

“No, you don’t,” Ford insisted. He crossed to the liquor cabinet. “You think that you do but you don’t, and it’s only going to make your condition worse, and--” He stopped, the cupboard door swinging wide as he stared, slack-jawed and unbelieving. “Stanley, did you...drink it  _ all? _ ”

“Eh, what can I say? I had a rough night.” Stan shrugged noncommittally. “On the bright side,” he continued, grabbing the camera from the table, “I managed to get some photos of Leviathan last night. At least, I think it--!” Ford actually slapped the camera from his twin’s large hand. It clattered to the floor.

“Stanley. Don’t change the subject.” Ford kept his hold on Stan’s hand. Stan stared at him, his expression laced with...fear? Hatred? Despair? Ford shook his head, grabbed his brother’s arm, and hoisted him up unsteadily. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

He led Stan to the bedroom, helped him into his bunk, and left him there to sleep off the alcohol. The camera sat forgotten on the floor and a mammoth oceanic beast continued to slither just underneath the hull of the  _ Stan O’ War II _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave some kindness in the comments if you enjoyed this chapter! (I might respond with something cool if you ask a question)


	4. Monstrum Maris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan and Ford go hunting for the Leviathan and talk to the kids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for self-harm, depression, and mention of severe illness.

Stanford Pines sat alone in the galley of the gently listing ship. He twirled a fountain pen around in his six-fingered hand and stared blankly at a sheet of paper in front of him. On it was note after scribbled note of research. And none of it was helpful.

He’d tried everything he could think of. Every medical procedure, every mythological “healing spring,” every creature. Everything had too many risks. Too many fatalities. Too many failed attempts. Everything was wrong, and Ford was lost.

He thought of his brother, then, who had been sleeping off several bottles of whiskey for the past three hours. He’d said something about photographs…? Ford gasped and scrambled for the camera. Photographs of the Leviathan! This could be the answer he was looking for! He scrolled through the four pictures over and over. A gigantic tail, lit by the moon. Moses, it must have been more than a hundred feet across! Perhaps two hundred!

Ford leapt from his chair with a gleeful cry. “Stanley! Stanley, you did it! You found the Leviathan!”

He bounded into the bedroom, grinning madly and singing scattered verses of the sea shanties they’d learned at the port they’d last stopped at. “Stanley, you did it!” he exclaimed again.

His brother groaned and shifted under his blanket. “Shuddup,” he grumbled. “Tryin’a sleep.”

“Not going to shut up!” Ford giggled. “That hangover’s your own fault! Now get up, I’ll get you some coffee and we can track the beast!”

“Mmph,” Stan grunted, sitting up and squinting as he fumbled for his glasses. “Looking back, that probably wasn’t the smartest idea.”

Ford laughed. “Didn’t I tell you? Here, let’s get you some coffee--would you like some ibuprofen too?--and go see if we can find that monster you saw last night!”

“Ugh, stop being so chipper,” Stan grumbled. 

Ford handed him his glasses and helped him out of bed, a subtle “Thanks” from Stan indicating that he wasn’t upset with his twin.

A cup of black coffee and a few pills later, the two brothers were ready to explore and discover. Stan looked over at his brother. “Uh...high Six?” he asked hesitantly, holding up a hand.

Ford was taken aback, and for a millisecond tears started in his eyes, but then he smiled and said, “High Six,” clapping a six-fingered hand solidly on the five-fingered one. Then, with a burst of laughter, the two raced onto the deck.

* * *

It was one in the morning. Dipper yawned and rolled over to check the source of the irritating noise. It was his phone. Somebody was sending him texts at one in the morning. Dipper muttered something unintelligible about people who never sleep and opened the conversation.  


The messages were from Ford. Instantly Dipper was wide awake as he scrolled through the four photos and the excited messages from his great-uncle. They all depicted an enormous tail, probably almost two hundred feet across, rising from the waves of a moonlit ocean.  _ Do u see that?!?!  _ Ford’s text shouted.  _ It’s the Leviathan, Dipper!!!! _

“Wow,” Dipper whispered. “Mabel!” He kicked at her bunk. “Mabel! Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford found the Leviathan!”

“Mmmmm...g’back t’sleep, Dip,” Mabel mumbled. “Too early for this.”

“But I can’t sleep now! They’re hunting the Leviathan! I need updates!” Dipper quickly typed a response to Ford.  _ How big do u think it is? _

After a moment, a simple  _ pop _ signalled that his uncle had answered.  _ If that’s just the tail, who knows how huge the rest of the monster is? _

Dipper grinned.  _ Ur gonna be safe, right? _

_ I don’t know! :) :) :) _

_ How’s Grunkle Stan? _

A long wait.

_ He’s doing okay. Slept for twelve hours today. Had to make him extra-sugary coffee to get him energized. _

_ How are you doing? _

Another long pause.

_ Fine. _

_ Are u sure? _

Pause.

_ Um, no. _

_ Want 2 talk about it? _

_ Dipper, you shouldn’t be worrying about me. I’ll be fine. _

_ No u won’t. Stan’s sick and I know what it’s like to be really scared for ur twin’s life. Talk to me, man! _

A very long wait.

_ I’m scared. _

Dipper stared at those two words for what seemed like years. Then,  _ What are u scared of? _

_ Not having enough time to make up for my mistakes. _

_ Haven’t u already done that? _

_ Not enough. _

_ What do u mean? _

_ I messed up so much I need the rest of our lives to make it up to him. But if he only has three months left that means I have thirty years without him again and I can’t do that another time, Dipper. _

_ I get it but I think Stan already knows how sorry u are. He forgave u a long time ago, I think. _

_ U think so? _

_ I know it. Now go fight some monsters together. _

_ Thanks, my boy. What time is it over there? _

_ 1:30 am. _

_ Go to sleep, Mason! _

_ Right. Bye! _

_ Goodnight. _

Dipper sighed, smiled, and rolled onto his back. Sleep did not come for him until six in the morning.

* * *

“Good mooooooorning, Sir Dippingshire!” the sickly sweet voice of Dipper’s twin sang.  


“No.” He shifted and tried to bury his head under his pillow.

“Now, Dipper. Whose fault was it to stay up talking to Grunkle Ford?”

“Mmmmmmm…”

“Not Mabel’s!” the girl giggled, and tickled her brother until he fell out of his bed. “You know what day it is?” she continued.

“Hmmm?” he muttered.

“Today’s Sunday! The day we get to video-call Grunkle Ford and Grunkle Stan again!”

They had a system set up where they would call every three days. It was too long for Mabel to wait, but the others convinced her to be patient. “Grunkle Stan and Great-Uncle Ford have a lot of important things to do,” Dipper explained to her at one point. “Plus, we’ve gotta give them some time alone together, right?”

Mabel had to agree.

But today was the day, and she was ecstatic to call.

They didn’t answer. “Dipper,” Mabel yelled. “The thing’s not working again!”

“No,” he replied, peering over her shoulder. “They’re just not online.”

“You think they’re okay?”

“Yeah, Ford said he and Stan were gonna be hunting a sea monster today.”

“But it’s, like, seven at night there now,” Mabel said, glancing at the clock that said it was 10 in the morning. “Shouldn’t they be done monster hunting for the day?”

Dipper shrugged. “It’s the Leviathan, Mabel. They could be hunting this thing for three days straight for all we know.”

“The Leviathan? But isn’t that thing, like, super-mega-gigantic? And really dangerous and deadly and stuff?”

Dipper hesitated before nodding. “Should I text them?”

“Yeah.”

He grabbed his phone and selected his thread with Ford.  _ U guys having fun? _

Then they stared at his phone.

One minute.

Two minutes.

Five minutes passed. “Should we--?”

“It’s only been five minutes. We have to be patient.”

Another five minutes passed. “Okay, we really should--”

The computer played its jingle to tell the kids that somebody was calling them. Both twins flung themselves at the device and answered the call. “Hiiiiii!!!” Mabel squealed as the grainy image of her great-uncles grinned at her. She frowned. “You’re dripping wet. You should dry off! Before we talk, I order you to get yourselves dry!”

Dipper shrugged, then nodded, and the two men laughed before disappearing from the screen. For the most part, both lines were silent as Stan and Ford put on new clothes, but the kids heard one or both of the men laughing or singing quietly every now and then.

It took less than ten minutes for the older twins to reappear on-screen. “Hi, kids!” Stan grinned, waving madly. “We had the greatest time!”

“Sorry we didn’t answer your first call, or your text,” Ford added. “Stan broke a finger punching the monster and we had to take care of it right away.”

“But you guys are okay, right?” Mabel worried.

“Of course, Pumpkin,” Stan smiled gently.

“Tell us about Leviathan!” Dipper cut in, bouncing excitedly.

“He didn’t sleep all night ‘cause he was so excited you guys saw the big fish tail,” Mabel said frankly.

“Mason! I told you to go to sleep,” Ford chided.

“Well, I tried, but--” he shrugged-- “I was too busy thinking about the reality of you guys actually getting  _ photographic evidence!” _

“Yes, well. We saw it again,” Ford said, “but unfortunately we didn’t get any pictures.” He shot a pointed look at his twin.

“Yeah, this nerd was tryin’ to get a photo when it lunged right at him,” Stan grinned. “I grabbed the camera and threw it at its head, which distracted it long enough for me to get a good punch in--and made Ford whine like a preschooler that I’d ‘destroyed all his evidence.’ It went back underwater again after that--”

“--But it seems to be following our boat,” Ford finished, glaring at Stan. “It appears that, since Stan took the photos last night, the creature has always been just behind or just beneath our vessel.”

“Probably before that,” Stan added. “I’d say it’s been followin’ us for at least two or three days.”

“You never told me that,” Ford frowned.

“Ya never asked.” Stan shrugged, but winked at the kids.

“But...how big is it?” Dipper asked.

“I’m not entirely sure. Gigantic--but I couldn’t get an accurate eye what with all the thrashing. It’s enormous, though, and terrifying. It’s more like an eel or a serpent than a whale, which is what science originally estimated it to be.”

“Haha, the nerds were wrong!” Stan laughed, playfully elbowing his brother.

Ford grinned. “Not as wrong as you were yesterday!”

“Hey, we promised not to bring that up!”

“Well you promised not to bring up the bit about the camera!”

“They asked!”

“No, they didn’t!”

The good-natured bickering continued for another couple of minutes before Mabel interrupted. “How’re you feeling today, Grunkle Stan?”

Stan’s laughter died in his throat. “Uhm. Alright, I guess? A little more tired than usual, but that might just be from the monster fight. Uh...got a bit of an ache in my stomach today, but it’s nothing much to worry about right now.”

“Okay.” Mabel’s face was shadowed for a fleeting instant before it brightened again. “I sent off more sweaters today! They should be at the next port’s post office when you get there in a week.”

“Wonderful,” Ford smiled. “Thank you, Mabel.”

“And Great-Uncle Ford, I sent you some more pens. You said the other day that you had chewed through another one, so I bought you a couple more fountain pens,” Dipper contributed.

“You didn’t have to--”

“What he means to say,” Stan interjected, “is that he’s undyingly grateful to you, Dipper.”

This made everyone laugh again. “Are you going to try and find out more about it tomorrow?” Dipper pressed.

“Perhaps,” Ford said, “but we also need to account for our age. I think we’re going to be taking a break for the next two days or so.”

Stan glowered. “We’re not  _ that  _ old, Sixer,” he grumbled.

“Says the one with an orthopedic back pillow.”

“Can it, Poindexter.”

“Yeah,” Mabel said, “you guys are just the perfect age to be the most amazing Grunkles on Earth!”

Dipper nodded. “But we wouldn’t care if you were fifty or ninety or a million, or however old you guys are, you’ll always be the perfect age to be the perfect uncles.”

The smiles on the old men’s faces grew bigger. “Well, I wouldn’t say we’re both perfect,” Stan joked, nudging his twin. “For instance, I’m much handsomer than this guy.”

Ford shot Stan a fake scowl. “Wherever did you get that idea? You’re forgetting you’re talking to the one who’s kept up a steady exercise regimen and diet.”

Stan rolled his eyes. “I’ll have you know that women like my gut!”

Ford laughed. “I’m sure they do. You wouldn’t be getting so much attention in bars if they didn’t.”

Stan responded with a loud outburst of laughter, a headlock, and a firm noogie that completely messed up any order Ford’s hair might have had. Ford let out a noise of protest but just ended up accepting his fate. “Good to see I can still get ya in one of these every now and then,” Stan grinned.

“Yes, well, you always catch me unawares. Don’t forget I can also hold you down pretty nicely these days.”

Stan shrugged, his twin still captured unforgivingly. “Stan, could you let me go?”

“Tap out.”

“What?”

“You heard me! You’ve gotta say that I won, fair and square!”

“Do we have to do this in front of the kids?”

“What, do ya not want Dipper to see his idol taken down by some fat, lazy old man?” He gave his brother another good noogie.

“Agh! Fine, fine! I tap! I give!” Ford swatted at his brother’s shoulder.

“Heh, still got it,” Stan sighed, finally letting Ford go. “Anyway. How’ve ya two gremlins been?”

“We’re great!” Mabel giggled without hesitation. “Dip and I both made Honor Roll! And my weaving class is going really well!”

“I made a robot for tech club,” Dipper added. “It works really well. It’s at school, so I’ll have to show you another time.”

“I won my first boxing match, too,” Mabel added. “Jerk won't bother my bro-bro again,” she muttered.

Stan and Ford exchanged a frown. Dipper looked at anywhere but the screen. Mabel’s eyes grew as she realized they’d heard what she’d said. “Uh, I mean, everything’s fine here!”

“Dipper,” Ford said carefully, “has somebody been bothering you again?”

“He won’t leave me alone,” the boy sighed. “I tried telling him what you said again, Grunkle Stan, but he didn’t listen!”

“Well I punched him in the face good,” Mabel reassured them, patting Dipper’s shoulder. “Think he’s scared of Dipper’s crazy sister now.”

This got a laugh from Stan, but Ford was not satisfied. “Mason, I want you to tell us if somebody starts bothering you again. You shouldn’t keep that from us; we can help.”

“I’m fine, guys, really,” Dipper insisted.

“You’re obviously not; I know how bullying can affect someone--”

“I said I’m  _ fine! _ I don’t want you to have to worry about more than you already do. Grunkle Stan is  _ dying _ and you don’t feel like you’re good enough and Mabel--!” Dipper stopped himself before he could blurt anymore. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“What about Mabel?” Stan asked after a long, tension-filled silence.

Dipper looked desperately at his sister. “I--”

“Guys…” Mabel looked down at her lap. No, at her hands. No...at her arms. She bit her lip. “I’m really sorry,” she whispered. She lifted her left arm and rolled up the sleeve of her sweater.

Band-aids. Four of them. A column of bandages stretching across the belly of her arm stood out in bright neon colors. “I...well, it hurt. I didn’t know how to deal with  _ you  _ hurting, and that made my brain say all sorts of bad things, and I kinda….”

“I made her stop,” Dipper cut in. He flung his arms around his twin. “I made her stop,” he repeated.

“I won’t ever do it again. Mom and Dad took me to a psychiatrist and they gave me medicine and I should be all better and I promise I won’t ever do it again,” Mabel almost sobbed.

The grunkles sat and stared at the children. Then, silently, synchronically, both men rolled up both of their sleeves and displayed their forearms to the children. Thin, white scars ribbed the pale undersides of both men’s arms. “We’ve been there,” Ford said quietly. “But we had nobody to tell us to stop.”

“Yeah. You’re a good brother, Dipper,” Stan added. Everyone wiped at their eyes a little as they relaxed again. “Heh, look at us. We’re all a mess,” he laughed.

Mabel giggled. “Hey, you know what would cheer everyone up, Grunkle Stan?” she suddenly asked, her eyes lighting up at an idea.

“What sweetheart?”

“You could play your guitar!”

“...Guitar?” Dipper frowned. “I didn’t know you--”

“Sure thing, pumpkin,” Stan grinned. “Just...gimme a sec….” He groaned as he stood from his chair and for a minute he was nowhere in sight. Then he came back with the instrument, strummed it until he was certain it was in tune, then asked Ford, “Shall we?”

Ford nodded with a grin. “Absolutely.”

Stan began a fast, lively song, strumming with gusto, then, eyes never leaving the other, they began to sing.

“Oh, blow the man down, bullies, blow the man down!

_ To me way-aye, blow the man down. _

Oh, Blow the man down, bullies, blow him right down!

_ Give me some time to blow the man down!” _

It was a rollicking sea shanty, and soon Dipper and Mabel were joining in on the catchy chorus.

“So I give you fair warning, before we belay,” Stan and Ford sang.

“To me way-aye, blow the man down,” they all nearly shouted.

“Don’t ever take heed of what pretty girls say!”

_ “Give me some time to blow the man down!” _ Everyone was definitely shouting at the end, before collapsing in breathless laughter.

“That was...really fun...guys,” Dipper panted.

“Heh. Just a shanty we picked up at port last week,” Stan replied with a shrug.

There was a comfortable silence in which everyone looked at the other. Then, Mabel exclaimed, “Ohmygosh, it’s after eleven and Dip and I still haven’t eaten any breakfast! We’ve gotta go!”

“Alright, kids,” Ford replied, nodding. “Have a wonderful day, okay?”

“Gotcha!” Mabel shrieked. “Love youuuuuu!” She blew copious kisses at the screen.

“Love you guys,” Dipper contributed.

“Heh, love you two gremlins, too,” Stan chuckled.

Ford nodded. “We love you, kids.”

Dipper hung up. “Alright. Let’s go get some food,” he grinned, and took his sister’s hand.

She squeezed it gently, her eyes incomparably vulnerable for a fleeting instant, before giggling and racing from their bedroom, dragging her protesting brother with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave some kindness in the comments if you liked this!


	5. In Thadal Unda A Culpa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan is sick and depressed. Ford is unhappy about the entire situation. The Leviathan appears. And Stanley is not important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY CRAP GUYS BEFORE YOU READ THERE ARE A LOT OF WARNINGS:  
> Body dysphoria, severe depression, major illness, a crap ton of swearing, self-worth issues, mentions of self-harm. Not a happy chapter, guys.  
> This was basically a vent chapter for me, as you might be able to tell.  
> Also: WOAH TWO UPDATES WITHIN A WEEK???? AMAZING!  
> Anyway, shield your eyes and plug your ears if you do not want depressing interactions.

Stan felt awful.

It was because of him--of course it was, everything was  _ because of him _ \--that his little girl, his princess, had hurt herself. It was  _ because of him _ that his brother had hurt himself. It was  _ because of him _ that Dipper was constantly on the verge of a panic attack. It was  _ because of fucking him _ that the world had almost ended. It was  _ because of him _ that everyone’s life was screwed up.

And it was because of him that this  _ stupid fucking sea monster _ wouldn’t go away. At least, that’s what Ford told him when, the day after the kids had called, Ford had done some quick readings of the sea monster and said that it was somehow attracted to Stan.

Of course, Stan had been sufficiently eloquent about the whole matter when informed. “ _ Fuck _ ,” he said.

“I’m sorry?”

“We’re gonna get eaten by a sea monster before I can get eaten by cancer and the kids’ll never see us again and it’s my fault,” Stan wanted to say.

“It’s weird, is all,” is what he actually said.

“It  _ is, _ ” Ford actually  _ squealed. _ “The weirdest!”

“But, Ford, that's supposed to be a  _ bad _ thing,” Stan tried to say.

“Heh, you nerd,” is what his traitorous mouth said, and his dumb fat body nudged his reckless twin.

Ford scribbled something in his journal. “Stan, do you think its skin was more black or midnight?” he asked.

“Does it matter?” Stan almost asked.

“Midnight,” he actually replied.

“Thanks.” Ford gave his brother a gentle smile.

Stan’s mind flinched at the word.

“Say that again.”

“What...thanks?”

Stan’s conscience cringed again. “Yeah, that.”

“Oh.” Ford grinned. “Thanks.”

It stabbed him in the heart.  _ You shouldn't be thanking me. There's nothing to thank me for. _ “Heh. Never thought I'd hear you say that.”

The wide smile on Ford’s face wavered. “I….”

_ Shit. You idiot; you hurt him again. _

“Stanley, I….”

_ Why can't you ever do anything right? Why is it that everything you do only hurts the people you love? _

His thoughts were cut off when his brother flew at him, enveloping him in a warm, tight embrace. “Thank you,” Ford whispered. “Thank you thank you thank you  _ thank you _ . You saved the kids, you saved the town, you saved the world, you saved  _ me, _ you bought us this boat, you gave Soos a father figure, you gave Wendy an escape, you gave the town hope, you gave the kids courage, you gave me... _ everything,  _ Stanley. You gave me everything.” A shuddering, tear-filled breath. “ _ Thank you.” _

Stan wasn't sure when he'd started crying, but Ford’s shoulder was just as damp as his own. “H-hate when you do that,” he half-sobbed, half-laughed. “T-try to make me feel good about m-myself, I mean.”

“You  _ should _ feel good about yourself,” Ford argued. “There's a lot to feel good about.”

“W-was that a fat joke?”

Ford laughed but it sounded wrong because of the unbridled sobbing that also continued to be wrenched from his heaving lungs. “W-why would it be?”

“‘Cause I’m fuckin’ fat.”

“Nah,” Ford quavered with a shaky smile, leaning back from the hug a bit to look at his brother. “You’re not fat.” He carefully examined his brother from head to toe. “I think you’ve actually lost a lot of weight since the summer,” he decided, his voice stronger. “But you’re still--I think the word Mabel would use is  _ huggable. _ ”

Stan smiled a little at the mention of their niece. “Heh, she would, wouldn’t she?”

“It’s true,” Ford mumbled.

“Huh? What was that, Poindexter? Almighty Badass Space Nerd?”

Ford tightened the arms around his brother again. “It’s true. You’re very...huggable.” His voice was no louder than it had been before, but he knew Stan had heard it.

“Ah, you sap,” Stan laughed, but he tightened his own embrace as well. “I don’t deserve you,” he wanted to say. “You’re a good brother,” he tried to say. “I still want to be more like you,” he couldn’t say. He didn’t say anything. His brother got there first.

“I’m a horrible brother,” Ford whispered into Stan’s shoulder.

Stan was speechless. “...Huh?”

“I am...I’m dreadful.”

“What? No, you’re not!  _ I  _ am! I ruined your life!” Stan grabbed Ford’s shoulders and held him tight. 

“The stupid sea monster is following us because of me! Mabel hurt herself because of me! You went  _ crazy _ because of me!  _ The fucking world ended _ because of me!” He didn’t say any of that aloud. He just clutched Ford and sobbed, unable to force his own condemning words past his constricting throat.

And then the world was spinning and he’d forgotten he was sick but  _ oh God he was sick  _ and he was on the deck--when had he ended up on the deck?--and Ford was clutching at his shoulders and shouting but he was so far away….

* * *

His stomach ached. That was the first thing he noticed. Then he opened his eyes and realized he was in his bedroom. Ford must have somehow moved him in there.

He saw Ford moving in the corner of his eye. “Heya, Sixer,” he said in a voice that was way too weak for his liking. “What’s the word?”

“The word is, your spleen is five times its normal size and is probably still expanding. How long has your stomach been aching?” Ford’s voice was stiff.

“Ah...don’t be upset when I tell you.”

“How could I get more upset?”

“...Cause I could tell you that it’s been since before you diagnosed me, Stanford. It’s been hurting for a while.”

“Stanley! It’s been two weeks!” Ford whirled around, took two big strides, and was right there at Stan’s bedside. “You’ve been aggravating it for weeks and you don’t even--you can’t--you could have  _ died _ Stanley!” Ford was trembling.

“Do you think I actually  _ care _ that I’m going to die?” Stan almost yelled back. “Do you think that I actually want to  _ live? _ ” he didn’t scream. “Do you think I actually hate you enough to want to stay around?” he didn’t sob.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

Ford fell to his knees at Stan’s side and stretched a shaking hand out to touch his twin’s face. “Stanley...I’m terrified,” he whispered.

“Why?” Stan wasn’t totally certain he’d said it aloud.

“I...God, Stanley, why do you think?” Ford shook his head. “We...you and I….”

A tremendous  _ thud _ shook the boat. Ford gripped Stan’s bed tightly. “Stay here, don’t move,” he said, standing up when the boat had stopped listing. “I’ll take care of it.”

“But--”

“Stanley! You’re in no condition to get up!”

Stan would have agreed with him--his eyelids were heavy and his head still spun--if it wasn’t for the gripping fear that  _ something _ was going to happen to Ford.

“Stanford--”  _ I’ll go out there instead. _ “--Be careful?”

A short, clipped laugh. “When have you ever known me to be careful?”

And he was gone.

* * *

Ford swept onto the deck with a slam of the door and a crack of his neck. “Alright, you deep-sea bastard, let’s see if you can beat my guns!”

He was angry. He was so very, very angry. He was angry at Stanley for hating himself. He was angry at the Universe for making his twin sick. He was angry that he never seemed to be enough. He was angry that Mabel and Dipper were hurting. And he was angry that this  _ fucking sea monster _ had just tried to wreck their boat.

The Leviathan reared high above him, its head thrashing wildly from side to side. It brought with it an onslaught of dark clouds and the beginnings of a rainstorm.  _ Just wonderful. _

Its head was like that of a dragon, but it had a rather blunt snout and instead of reptilian eyes, glazed fish eyes rolled in its gigantic skull. The neck of the beast was thicker than a redwood tree, shingled with midnight-black scales, and rippling with enormous muscular power. Large eldritch tendrils writhed above the waves and snaked from the back of the monster, spattering water and a strange mucous-like substance across the deck of the ship.

Ford pressed a button on the side of one of his gigantic guns, shouldered the weapon, and listened as the tell-tale  _ whrrrreeeeeeeee _ noise made it clear that it was ready to make a shot. “Listen, you eldritch reptilian son-of-a-bitch; you stay away from my ship, you stay away from me, and you stay away from my broth--AH!”

A tendril had whipped forward with unbelievable speed, snatched Stanford out of the air, and just like that, he was gone--drawn below the waves. A pair of glasses clattered to the deck.

Stanley, wobbling in the doorway as the rain began to pour down, had a terrible feeling of deja vou.

* * *

“I….”

A cough.

“Stanley, I….”

He was shivering so hard he could barely form words, let alone whole sentences.

“Shhh. Don’t talk too much, Poindexter. It’s okay.”

“How did...how long…?”

“I was right there when it pulled ya under. I just pulled out my knife, jumped in, and cut that weird...thing off of you. You weren’t under for long.”

“Has...hypo...thing set in?”

“Hypothermia? Heh, Poindexter, now look at who’s spoutin’ long words. But nah, it’s not hypothermia--you’re shiverin’, see?”

Long pause. “...Yes. But...what about you? I...told you to stay put.”

“Heh, you know me, Sixer...never listen.”

“But your illness…”

“Eh, I'm already dying, might as well make it quick.”

He didn't say that out loud.

Instead, he said, “I'm fine, nerd, jeez. Let me worry about  _ you _ for once.”

“Stanley--”

“Oh, no. You're not getting a word in edgewise or we’ll never get anywhere. So I'm gonna talk to you and you're gonna eat this soup I made for you.”

A bowl of soup appeared in Ford’s quivering hands. He stared at it.

“Uh...you can eat that, right?”

Ford’s eyes were damp, something that was becoming depressingly familiar. “Stan….” He looked at his brother. “It smells like Ma’s.”

“Yeah…” Stan didn’t meet Ford’s eyes. “I may have called her a couple times after Dad had...well. She had me write down this recipe in case...well, in case.”

“Good. I didn’t want to...ever forget this.”

“Yeah, me either.” Stan thrust the spoon into Ford’s hand. “Now eat.”

He did, ravenously. Stan sat cross-legged on the floor, leaning up against the wall right next to the bunk beds, while Ford huddled in Stan’s bed and listened as his brother regaled him with anecdotes he recalled from his more distant past. Tales of Rico and Eduardo and some lady named Marylin, heart-pounding stories of chases and escapes and captures and near-death experiences, heart-wrenching accounts of the times he thought he wouldn’t make it, heart-warming tales of people who had helped him and housed him and fed him and saved him. Stan’s eyes were far away, vulnerable, and exposed.

Ford listened, rapt, completely consumed with his brother’s ever-concealed past.

“And then, Alex and Dana called and asked me if I could  _ take care _ of the little munchkins for the summer, and I thought, ‘Sure, why not, I can handle a couple kids,’ and the day came for me to get them from the bus station and you know what, Sixer? I was nervous. I was  _ nervous _ about seeing the two little gremlins.” Stan laughed. “And then Mabel, she gets off the bus and the first thing she does is hug me and suddenly I’m not so nervous anymore.” He paused. “Yeah, that was before her brother got off the bus. The look he gave me...Christ, I thought he’d just dissected me. It was really hard for me to get used to him. He’s just like you.”

Ford nodded and finished the last drops of soup. “Stanley, why are you telling me all of this?”

“Well...you’re my brother. And you told me all the stuff that happened to you. So...I thought, ‘Why haven’t I told  _ him _ everything yet?’”

Ford had to agree, it  _ was _ logical. But his gut was coiled with guilt because he’d never even  _ wondered _ what Stan was doing during those ten years between one incident and the other.

“Oh, no,” Stan frowned, “you’re making that face again.”

“What face?” Ford struggled to force his face into a neutral expression.

“The face that means you feel awful and you think you’re a terrible brother. Well, Sixer,” Stan leaned forward, placing his hands on his brother’s shoulders, “you’re a great brother.” He grinned and ruffled Ford’s already messy hair. “Heh, you dork,” he added, leaning back against the wall again, “if you were that terrible of a brother, do you think I’d have jumped right into the ocean and fought the biggest sea monster in the whole universe to save you? Or, you know, risked the safety of our entire dimension or whatever, to bring you home?”

Ford opened his mouth to say  _ no, of course you wouldn’t, that would be ridiculous, _ but Stan beat him to it. “Of  _ course _ I would have. You could have been the  _ worst _ brother in the entire...I don’t know... _ multiverse, _ and I’d still go to Hell and back to save you.” His face was unreadable. “But I would never hate you as much as...as I hate Pa.”

Stanford shuddered. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “But you shouldn’t hate him.”

“Why not?” Stanley asked angrily, turning to face his twin. “Why the  _ fuck _ shouldn’t I hate him?”

Ford just stared back. He had no good reason.

“Ah, whatever,” Stan said after a long silence. “That’s all behind us. Now you get some sleep, and I’m gonna quick call the kids and tell them what’s happening.”

Ford wanted to protest, but Stan gave him a look that rivaled their mother’s and he quickly closed his mouth.

“Alright,” Stan said, more to himself than to his brother, “time to get up.” He pushed himself off the wall, let out a quiet hiss of pain, then decided that slowly sliding up would be easier and less agonizing. He was wrong; it still hurt like hell. But he grit his teeth and did it anyway.

Ford was staring at him, concern etched into the lines on his face. “Stanley…?”

“Don’t...worry about me,” Stan panted. “I’ll be...fine.”

He let out a string of muffled curses as he began hobbling through the network of doorways and cramped areas. Ford wasn’t certain he’d be able to sleep with Stan in so much pain, but he surprised himself by slipping into a dreamless sleep within moments of Stan’s departure.

* * *

“Ah...hey, kiddos. Just wanted to let you know what's going on,” Stan said through the phone. “Ford got pulled overboard by the Leviathan. Don't worry, he's safe now, I gave him some soup and made him sleep. He didn't want me to tell you but...I thought you should know.”

The kids clamored to hear more, but Stan told them that they should go to bed, it was getting late over there and he didn’t want their parents mad at him for keeping them awake. “You kiddos sleep well and don’t worry about us, alright?”

“Okay. Goodnight, Grunkle Stan!”

“‘Night.”

He pressed the “end call” button on his phone, sat back, and tried to ignore the stabbing ache that throbbed in his belly. He’d be fine. He’d had worse.

Stanford was the one who mattered. He was special.

And Stan? Well, Stan was...not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update might take a while, struggling with writer's block. Be warned.


	6. Quod Homo Convenit An Mare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan and Ford study the Leviathan, then go to visit Esbjerg, Denmark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I am! I have defeated writer's block and have brought you a new chapter. Teeny warning for body dysphoria, anxiety attacks, and vomit but nothing's too ugly.

“ _ The Old Man and the Sea, _ Ford? Really?” Stan had entered the kitchen the day after the Leviathan attack to find his brother engrossed in Ernest Hemingway's work. “You  _ do _ realize the--”

“Yes, Stan,” Ford replied, looking up from the novel. “The title contains a lot of irony pertaining to our current situation.” He stuck his nose back in the pages again.

Stan rolled his eyes. “C’mon, old man. Let’s go take a look at that Leviathan stuff I collected yesterday.”

The book was slowly lowered. “Stuff...you...collected?” Ford asked, his eyes the size of saucers as they peeked over the cover.

“Yes, you nerd. Now come on.” Stan walked back through the doorway and into the compact lab. The sound of a chair nearly falling over, then scrambling feet told him that Ford was close behind.

“What did you collect?” Ford asked, hovering at his brother’s shoulder as Stan retrieved the samples he’d gotten the night before.

“Relax, bro,” Stan laughed. In one hand he held--was that an actual petri dish?--containing a small sample of the mucous-like substance that had splattered on the deck, and in the other hand there was a small plastic box. “I got some of that slime and a bit of that tentacle that I had to cut off of you.”

“It’s not a tentacle,” Ford began to explain. “It’s some sort of appendage, but it does not have suction cups anywhere on it. It can’t be an arm or a tentacle at all.”

Stan shook his head. “Don’t care, I’m gonna call them tentacles.”

Ford rolled his eyes, but his face remained eager. “But Stan--you collected all this?”

“Yeah. I’m curious, too,” Stan replied only a little testily, shooting a bit of a dirty look at his twin. “Sides,” he added much more quietly, “thought it’d make you happy.”

Ford suddenly got what Mabel called ‘a case of the warm fuzzies.’ “It did, actually,” he said with a grin. “I’m excited to see what I--sorry, we--can find about the Leviathan.”

“I thought so,” his brother said confidently. “Now, come on...talk nerdy to me.”

Ford couldn’t suppress a laugh as he took the samples from Stan. “Well, you see….”

* * *

Ford squinted into the microscope (modified by him, of course). “Hmm.” He peered harder. “Mmmmh.” He changed the magnification. “Interesting.” He clicked his pen: open, closed, open, closed.

“What are you looking for?” Stan wearily asked.  _ And could you stop clicking that godforsaken pen? _

“Recognisable DNA,” Ford answered, then scribbled down some notes. “Nothing I’ve ever seen before,” he added. “It’s fascinating.”

“Great.” Stan checked his watch. “Oh, be right back.” He stood slowly and went to the tiny bathroom, then grabbed a bottle from the cabinet and popped a couple pills.  _ Thank Moses for Tylenol, _ he thought.

“Feeling alright?” Ford seemed to know exactly what Stan had just done.

“Yeah, absolutely. Just had to take a couple pain meds. Hey, we’re almost to the port in...that place in Denmark. Starts with an ‘E’.”

“Esbjerg,” Ford offered.

“Yeah, that. Iceberg.”

Ford pulled back his head from the tiny microscope just to roll his eyes at Stan. “It’s Esbjerg, Stanley.”

“Like you care. Come on, nerd, let’s get ready to get off the boat. I’m really lookin’ forward to some fish and chips.” He scratched the scruff on his chin. “Hmmm. Really lookin’ forward to some babes tonight, too.”

Ford choked. “No, Stanley. Let's not...do that. Especially with your condition, we don't want to risk you damaging yourself by...ah, rocking the boat, so to speak.”

Needless to say, this caused Stan to laugh so hard that he nearly fell over, began wheezing, and had to contemplate taking the entire bottle of pain medication. “Oh, ow,” he gasped. “Not good.”

Ford stared at him, wide-eyed and worried. “Are you alright?”

“Y-yeah, fine.”

“We need to get you to the hospital in Esbjerg,” Ford decided. “I know,” he continued, holding up a hand, “you hate doctors. I do, too. But maybe they can do something about the swelling in your spleen.” He turned back to the microscope.

“No.” The answer was firm and resolute. “Let’s wait until we’re back in Oregon. I don’t want to be so far away from the kids when….” He coughed. “If, you know, I snuff it.” He only slightly forced a smile.

“Stanley!”

“Sorry. It’s inevitable, Sixer. Might as well--”

“No, no, look at this.” Stanford gestured to his brother, who moved closer. “Do you see that?”

“No, because we can’t both look through the eye-thing at the same time.”

“Oh--sorry.”

Ford moved aside so his brother could peer through the lens.

“Woah. What’s that?”

“That, Stanley, is DNA.”

“Oh. That’s that dee-nah shit? I always thought it was like. X’s.”

“That’s...that’s chromosomes, Stanley.”

“I knew that.” Stan frowned at the magnified image. “So...what’s important about this?”

“This is like no DNA I’ve ever seen, Stanley. This is exciting!”

“Good to know, nerd. Come on, you’ve looked enough for today. Any longer and you’re gonna be there for the next thirty-six hours.” Stan took his brother’s shoulder and gently guided him away from his science.

“But--”

“No buts. Come on, let’s phone the kids and let them know we’re almost to Iceberg or whatever. Denmark.”

Ford almost began to whine. He almost started complaining. The mention of the children, however, stopped that in its tracks. “Yes. Let’s call the children,” he said with a smile. “Hopefully they’re still awake.”

“They should be,” Stan replied. “It’s only...what, eight in the evening for them?”

“Children their age should be asleep by then.”

“Well, they’re usually not. They’re like us at that age.” Stan laughed.

“You may have a point there.”

Stan nodded. “Don’t I always?” He dialed Mabel’s phone and put it on speaker.

She answered right away with a squeal. “Grunkle Stan! Grunkle Stan! Are you almost to the port? Where are you stopping today? What are you gonna do there? Will you send me pictures? Don’t forget about the gifts! Make sure you pick up food while you’re there! What--?”

“Slow down there, pumpkin,” Stan chuckled. “Let’s let our brothers get a word in edgewise. How’s Sport doin’ over there?”

“Fine,” Dipper’s muffled voice answered.

“Hello, kids,” Ford said. “We’re stopping in Esbjerg, Denmark today and yes, we’re nearly there. I’m hoping to see ‘Man Meets the Sea’, a famous sculpture by the shore, and Stan wants to look at a fisherman’s museum. Don’t worry about us.”

“Yes, but will there be photos?” Dipper asked.

“I don’t know about that, we don’t have a camera anymore.”

“Sixer. We could just use our phones.”

“We...what?”

“Stanford, our phones have cameras on them.” Stan turned the mobile device over to show the camera to his brother. “See?”

Ford nodded. “Ah.” Then, to Mabel, he replied, “Yes. There will be many photos.”

“Selfies!” Mabel cheered. “Send us a bunch of selfies!”

“A bunch of--”

“Self-pictures, bro.”

“Oh.”

Ford considered mentioning his plan to take Stan to a hospital but decided against it. “We can’t talk long, unfortunately,” he said. “We’ll be nearing port in a few minutes.”

“Okay! We’ll let you go!” Mabel squeaked. “But remember the sweaters!”

“And take photos!” Dipper added.

“We love you!” the kids said, and Stan and Ford could hear their smiles.

“We love you, too.” Stan hit the red “end call” button.

“Well, better get up there and steer,” Stan said.

“I’ll go do that. Don’t want you straining yourself. Could you go and check our storage so we know what we need to stock up on?”

“Aye-aye,” Stan grinned, and headed for the tiny cabinet while Ford entered the compact control room.

* * *

When they entered the harbor, nobody gave them a second glance. Ford leapt off the boat, then helped his twin off. Stan grumbled a sullen “thank you” as he took the proffered hand.

“Ugh. You’d think we’d have established both land legs and sea legs now,” Ford complained, wobbling.

“You’d think,” Stan agreed. “So where’s this weird nerd sculpture you wanted to see?”

“I think it’s to the northwest of--don’t you give me that look I know what you are going to say Stanley and don’t you dare say--”

“The  _ Atlantica Northwest? _ ”

“ _ Stop.” _

“No relation to Preston?” Stan pressed.

“ _ Stanley Pines, I am going to personally kill you if you continue. _ ”

“Alright, alright.” Stan cringed, but he was laughing. “Come on, Sixer. Let’s go find that statue.”

“And then we’ll stock up.”

“I guess…” Stan paused. “Stanford, could we stay here for the night? I mean, we never get to spend time anywhere! Can’t I see the world a bit before I--”

Ford looked at his brother so fast he got whiplash. “ _ Don’t. Say. It.” _ His eyes were wide and scared.

Stan stared back. “W-woah there, Sixer,” he said with forced cheer, “it-it’s inevitable, right?”

Ford squeezed his eyes shut and inhaled deeply. “Let's...just go.”

* * *

Ford asked Stan if he wanted to take a taxi. “Nah,” Stan said, waving a noncommittal hand. “I’m not that old.”

Ten minutes later he was regretting his decision. “Ugh,” he groaned. “How much farther?”

“It wouldn’t be so far if we’d taken a taxi,” Ford replied with a smirk. “Come on, Stanley! I thought you were fit.”

Stan took his excessive gut in his hands. “Does  _ this _ look fit to you?” He jiggled it for emphasis.

Ford shrugged. “I’ve seen worse. Come on, old man. Let’s keep going.” On impulse, he reached out and gripped his brother’s shoulder. They exchanged a grin and continued following the road towards the  _ Man Meets the Sea. _

* * *

The walk was long but not unbearable. The twins chatted and laughed and occasionally broke into song. Ford began describing the Leviathan and all the interesting information he found out about it, and Stan actually listened, even asking a question or two and shocking both his brother and himself. A lot of things were changing, it seemed.

“Well, here it is,” Ford said after about twenty minutes. He placed his hands on his hips as the brothers stopped and stared up at the huge sculpture.  _ “Man Meets the Sea, _ ” he breathed. “Amazing.”

“So, this is it, then?” Stan asked. “We just...stand here and look at four giant naked men carved out of rock?” He paused. “Not that I’m at all opposed to naked men,” he added. Ford shuddered.

“Hey!” Stan called suddenly to the smattering of people meandering about beneath the sculpture. “Could anybody get a photo of me and my brother in front of this? It’s for our niece.”

A blonde woman, probably in her early forties, approached them. “Of course,” she agreed with a smile. “Do you have a camera or a phone to use?”

“A phone,” Stan said, and pulled it out of his pocket and opened the camera. “Here ya go.”

He grabbed his brother’s arm and dragged him over. “Let’s pose!” he yelled.

Ford placed an arm around his brother’s shoulders and Stan slung his arm around his brother, flexing his free bicep with a wild grin. The woman laughed and snapped a few photos. “Alright, all done,” she smiled.

“Thank you,” Ford told her, and she responded with a “You’re welcome!” before turning and walking over to a woman who leaned over and kissed her cheek.

Stan grinned at that.

* * *

Ford and Stan sat in the shade of the four gigantic men and stared off at the sea. “It’s really somethin’, isn’t it?” Stan commented.

“What, the ocean?”

“Nah. Earth.”

Ford nodded. “Yeah. It is.”

“Do you ever...miss it?”

“Miss what?”

“Jumping through dimensions. Seeing other worlds. Meeting weird creatures and parallel people. Being independent.”

Ford jolted. “What? No! I hated those thirty years. My journey was an accident, hopping was a disaster, I was constantly on the run, and I was...alone.” His head dropped to his chest. “I’d always wondered what it was like  _ up there. _ And when I finally got there, I couldn’t even enjoy it.” He looked back up, out at the sea, at the horizon, and then at the cloud-streaked sky. “Forty years among anomalies and aliens and fantastic worlds and I hated it because despite what I told myself, I just missed  _ you _ .”

Stan laughed softly. “Yeah, I get it. I missed you, too. You remember all those phone calls you got during those ten years? Those calls where nobody answered, then hung up?”

“Yeah?”

“Mmm. That was me. I was always so nervous to talk to you, I just didn’t.”

“I’m--sorry.”

“Nah, don’t be. We’ve been through this, right? The past is in the past. I don’t remember much of those ten years, but I don’t think very much happened that was good. I don’t really think I need to remember what happened.”

Ford frowned a little. “All memories are good memories, Stan.”

“But these ones aren’t important. They don’t make me who I am, so I don’t need them. Or something.” Stan shrugged and stared at his calloused hands.

“Stanley? Are you...happy?”

Stan looked up at his brother with a broad grin. “Are ya kidding, Ford? Of course I’m happy! I’m livin’ the dream, sailing around the world with my favorite twin, keeping in contact with the kids, and punching monsters! This is the most fun I’ve had since...the original Stan O’War!”

Ford laughed. “Alright, I’m just making sure.” He slung a companionable arm around his brother’s shoulders and together, the pair watched the sky and the sea turn and breathe gently.

Suddenly, Stan stiffened. “Ford?”

Ford sighed. “Please, Stanley, if you say something self-deprecating, I will--”

“Ford, something’s wrong.” The words tumbled out over each other in a rush. “Stanford, I, I don’t feel so--” With a sickening sound Stanley gagged, then retched, doubling over as his stomach contracted.

“Stanley!” Ford cried, recoiling before moving forward again. “Stanley, are you--” He stopped as Stan retched again, spilling sick all over the ground and both men’s shoes. “Oh, my God.” Ford’s heart was racing, his head was spinning, his chest was heaving, he couldn’t breathe he couldn’t breathe couldn’t breathe couldn’t--

“Stanford,” Stan coughed. “ _ Breathe _ .”

And he did. He breathed, in, out, in, out, get your phone, call the taxi, in, out, in, out, “They’ll be there soon” in a thick accent, in, out, make sure he’s comfortable, breathe, breathe, breathe.

“Stan,” Ford said, his voice sounding foggy and hollow to his own ears, “Stan, I need you to stay awake, okay? The taxi will be coming soon, I need to take you to the hospital--”

_ “No.” _ Stan gasped. The world was spinning and going black around the edges. “Get me home.  _ Get me home.  _ Please.”

“Okay.”  _ Okay. Okay. Just let him be okay, we’ll all be okay…. _

All he could see, all he could hear, all he could focus on was his brother as they huddled under the protective gaze of the statues and waited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is a beast. Bear with me and leave some kindness in the comments if you're enjoying this!


	7. Manere in Contactum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan is in the hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait everybody. My life all of a sudden went downhill when we found out my mom's breast cancer from 4 years ago reappeared on her spine, successfully fracturing her tailbone and rendering her unable to do anything. I was unable to write much for several weeks. But she's recovering very well, and once her radiation treatments are over my updates will become much more regular. Anyway, you want to get to the fic, not hear my excuses!  
> Warning for hospital settings, surgery mentions, suicidal ideation, and my shitty interpretation of hospitals in general. Also a bunch of Fiddauthor because I can't restrain myself.

_ It’s just a phone call, _ Ford told himself.  _ That’s all it is. Just giving the facts. _

_ But they’re his family, too. Do you think they’re not going to be utterly devastated by the news that he’s…?  _ He shook his head. That pesky voice kept showing up and ruining his confidence.

_ Just give them the facts. It’s not hard. _

_ It’s hard to give the facts when the facts are that your brother’s fucking dying! _ Ford dropped his phone into his lap and groaned, sliding his glasses onto his forehead so he could let his face fall forward into the broad palms of his hands. He dragged them down his cheeks, stretching the lined flesh before dropping to his lap, the skin bouncing back into place. “Alright,” he breathed. “I can do this.”

With sweating, trembling hands, he pressed the “call” button beside the name “Alex Pines”. He almost hung up the phone as it began ringing on the other end, and his heart leapt into his throat when he heard a man’s voice answer, “Hello?”

Ford took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and began. “Hello, Alex. It’s your Uncle Ford. Is Dana with you?”

“I...I can get her in the room. Do you want the kids, or…?”

“No. No, this is an adult conversation.”

Ford swallowed and waited until Alex said, “Dana’s in the room. What happened?”

“My brother...Stanley...I’m sure the kids have told you by now that--”

“He has cancer, we know. Is he…?”

“No. Not yet. But...he’s having complications. We’re in a hospital in Esbjerg. I’d like to take him to Piedmont or Gravity Falls but it depends on his condition. If I can get us sailed back over there, what would be more convenient for you?”

“I’d like what Stan would enjoy more. His friends are all in Gravity Falls, yeah?”

“Yeah. We’ll get him there if he’s well enough.” Ford was surprised his voice wasn’t shaking or cracking as much as he’d expected.

“Alright, Uncle Ford. Good luck,” Dana said sadly. “Tell Uncle Stan we love him.”

“I will. Could you explain this to the kids? I’m afraid I’m rather insensitive.”

“Absolutely. Goodbye, Uncle Ford.”

“Goodbye.”

Ford sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose as he hung up.  _ Who to call next? _ Soos was the first one who came to mind.  _ He’s like Stan’s son. I should tell him. _ He searched for the man-child’s number. “Ah, here it is,” he said aloud, and hit the “call” button.

“Dr. Mr. Pines!” an enthusiastic voice said. “It’s pretty late here, dude. Why are you calling?”

“Uh. Um.” Ford paused, gulped. “It’s Stan. He...well, there’s a lot to say, and...I don’t know if you knew this but...he has cancer. And it’s...terminal. He, ah, he’s starting to have some complications. It’s been in his system for a long time and...it’s starting to spread. We’re not sure what’s going to happen from here, but...I thought you should know.”

Utter silence from the other end. Ford waited for a couple seconds-- _ relax-- _ before saying, “Hello?”

A quiet sniffle. A wet sob. A sound like a sick horse sneezing. And then Ford was hearing the large man breaking down on the other end, huge broken sobs crackling over the phone. Soos tried to say something but nothing would come out but hiccups. “No, no, no, Soos, don’t cry, I’m doing everything I can--stop, stop, I can’t, I don’t, I, you have to stop, please, I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do to make you stop, I can’t--”

“Doctor Pines,” a female voice said. She’d apparently taken the phone from Soos. “Hi, I’m Melody. I don’t think we’ve met. I take it Stan’s doing badly?”

“Y-yeah. He took a sudden decline today. How did you--?”

“Stan told me himself. It’s alright, I’ll take it from here.” Muffled voices suggested that Melody was comforting Soos. “I take it he won’t be able to make it to the wedding, then?”

“We’re...not sure yet. We can try, though.”

“Okay. Thanks very much for the update, Doctor Pines. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.” Soos was still crying when Ford hung up.

Ford took a deep, calming breath.

It didn’t help.

He needed to talk to somebody.

_ Fiddleford. _

Ford smiled at the name. They’d been...well, Ford liked to call it  _ together, _ because “dating” made it sound like they were inexperienced teenagers, since the day after Dipper and Mabel left. Fiddleford had come knocking on the door of the Mystery Shack and when Ford had opened the door he’d been absolutely speechless. His oldest friend, who had just the day before looked like the crazy old man he’d used to be, had cut his beard back, dressed himself in new clean overalls and white T-shirt, and was standing there on the front porch, looking nicer than Ford had ever seen him in the late morning sun. “Did ya...want to maybe come over, see the place?” Fiddleford had asked rather nervously. How could Ford have declined, seeing such an adorable expression on his best friend’s face?

Things had escalated from there, to say the least. And Stan still hadn’t caught on, which the two liked to joke about. After all, Stan wasn’t one to question Ford’s “research habits”.

Ford quickly scrolled through his contacts and selected “Fidds <3”. The phone rang once, twice, and then picked up. “Howdy!” Fiddleford said cheerfully. “What is it, darlin’? It’s gettin’ late here.”

“Stan’s having complications. I needed to talk to somebody.”

“Ah.” Quiet. “I know Stan’s physical illness is dreadful, but...how’re  _ you _ holdin’ up?”

“Me?” Ford chuckled dryly. “I haven’t stopped to think about my own physical or mental health for days.”

“Darlin’! I thought we’d broken this bad habit!”

“I know, I know...I’m sorry, Fidds, love, but you know how I get.”

Ford could  _ hear _ his partner nodding sagely. “Unfortunately. Have you been takin’ your medi-fi-cations?”

His pronunciation made Ford laugh. “Yeah, I have. The panic attacks have been less frequent and less intense and I do feel much less stress. I also haven’t been experiencing as many nightmares.”

“That’s great!” Fiddleford laughed brightly. “Tate ‘n I went fishing today. It was nice.”

“Mmm. How’s your garden doing?”

“We’re getting the last of the fall harvests in this week. S’pposed to start snowin’ this weekend, so we’re taking all the necessary precautions. Been teachin’ Pacifica here how ta cook; turns out she’s a natural at anythin’ with tomatoes, and she loves makin’ jam.”

“Ah, I can’t wait to get back home to you and your amazing cooking.”

“Are y’all coming back here soon, then?”

“We hope to, depending on Stan’s condition.”

“Would y’all like me to inform the town of Stanley’s predicament? I can have ‘em set up a welcome party and some meals for the family.”

“Ah…” Ford was uncertain. Crowds? People?  _ Lots _ of people? “I’m not certain Stan would enjoy having a crowd.”

“You mean you’re not sure  _ you’d _ like to have a crowd,” Fiddleford laughed. “It’ll be fine, he loves attention.”

“That he does,” Ford sighed. “Alright, you can do it.”

There was a peaceful quiet between them before Fiddleford said, “Stanford?”

“Hmmm?”

“You need to stop worryin’ so much. Nothin’s gonna change when all you do is worry. Everythin’s gonna turn out fine in the end.”

Ford’s mouth quirked into a soft smile. “I know.”

They chatted for a few more minutes before exchanging quick but affectionate “I love you”s and ending the conversation with a lingering sense of nostalgia, romance, and guilt.

“Dr. Pines?” A heavily accented voice broke through Ford’s wall of anxiety.

“Ah, yes?” Ford stood when he saw the white-coated doctor standing in the waiting room.

“Dr. Pines, we have been able to safely remove your brother’s spleen. Unfortunately, that only slows the decline of his condition, as the cancer has spread to nearly every major organ, as well as surrounding tissue. He is very ill, Dr. Pines. I am sorry, but we cannot do more.”

“Can I...see him?”

“He is asleep right now, but you may go in.” The doctor directed Ford down the hall to where Stan’s room was. Ford paused before the doorway, scared of what he might see--even though he’d seen Stan just hours ago--but finally became determined to walk in and look upon his twin.

It was startling, how frail Stan looked in the hospital bed, with all sorts of catheters and monitors stuck in him. Ford found himself trembling at the sight. Stan was always the strong one, always the fighter, always the one protecting, always standing tall, never one to be knocked down. And here he was, knocked down at last by his own body--the only thing that could defeat Stan was himself, Ford thought.

He sat down heavily in the chair beside the bed with a sigh and waited for a blink, a sigh, a word. Anything.

* * *

Stan woke up and it  _ hurt. _ Holy  _ Moses _ did it hurt. “Fuck,” he groaned. “That’ll leave a mark.”

“Stan?” It was Ford’s voice. “Oh, my God, you’re awake!”

“Yeah, wish I wasn’t,” Stan muttered. “I feel old.”

“You  _ are _ old, you knucklehead!” Stan didn’t even have to look at Ford to tell that his brother was openly crying.

“Yeah, well, we’re the same age, Poindexter. That means that you’re old too.”

“No way,” Ford laughed, “I’m spry as ever.”

“You almost threw out your back a few weeks ago.”

“...It was hard work, okay?”

“Bendin’ down to pick up a net?” Stan grinned weakly.

“Well, nets can be heavy!”

Stan tried to shrug. “Ooh, ow, bad idea.”

“I, uh…” Ford rubbed his shoulder awkwardly, “I should get a doctor in here to check up on you.”

“You’re a doctor, aren’t you?”

“Not a certified one.”

Stan sighed. “Fine. Go get a doctor.”

“Glad you’re finally seeing my side of things, you knucklehead,” Ford joked as he stood, ruffling his brother’s hair affectionately before leaving the room.

Stan laid there, staring at the ceiling, intrusive thoughts raging inside his mind. On one hand, he wanted to stay around to get home to Gravity Falls, to see the kids again, to hug Soos and congratulate him and Melody on their recent engagement, to con the customers one last time, to make his twin laugh, to see Ford enjoy life for a little longer. On the other, everything hurt--his body, his mind, his thoughts, his knowledge, his family, his friends--and he just wanted it to be over, to stop being a burden, to get out of everyone’s hair, to get that weird lizard-fish off of Ford’s tail, to let his twin live his own life. He considered just getting up, ripping out the tubes and monitors, and escaping the hospital, running off somewhere where nobody could find him, dying alone and in secret somewhere in a remote part of Denmark.

_ Ford searching relentlessly for his body. Ford screaming as he clutches Stan’s corpse. Ford blaming himself. Ford committing suicide. The kids, the kids, the kids…. _

No. No, Stan had to stay here. He had to do what was best for everyone. He had to live.

What did that even feel like? Living, not just surviving? For over forty years, more than half his life, he’d been just...surviving. Not-dying. He had to make millions. He had to save Ford. He had to protect the kids. He had to  _ survive _ .

And now everyone wanted him to make a sudden shift in his habits. Suddenly he had to start thinking about himself but he'd never thought about himself like  _ that _ . He’d never considered himself as anything other than worthless, a waste of space and money and time, just a block for people to step on so  _ they _ could live.

Before his intrusive thoughts could consume his fragile logic, Stan was interrupted by Ford entering with a white-coated, middle-aged woman. “Oh, hey, toots,” Stan said with a wink. “Doin’ anything tonight?”

The doctor narrowed her eyes. Ford stifled a laugh.

Stan was asked several questions, he had some blood drawn (“Haven’t I lost enough?”), and the doctor typed in notes on her streamlined laptop which Ford eyed with interest. He was informed that he’d have to spend four days in the hospital in order to recover. He groaned.

When all of these routines were finished, the doctor made to walk out but stopped in the doorway, craned her neck to look at him, glared for several seconds, and left.

Ford burst out laughing. “So much for still having it,” he gasped.

Stan scowled. “I’ve still got it!” he protested.

“That doctor doesn’t seem to think so.”

“She’s probably already married, Ford.”

“That just makes it worse, Stanley. Don’t look so upset when a married woman turns you down.”

“Ah, can it, Ford.” He grinned.

Ford returned the expression and sat back down beside the bed. “Gravity Falls is going to prepare a welcome party for us. The only problem is speed. We won’t be able to get back to Gravity Falls in our boat for a while. The Stan O’ War II isn’t exactly fast.”

“Can’t you just...magic us back across with science voodoo or something?”

Ford chuckled. “I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that. We’ll either need to leave the boat here and fly home or try to sail our way home.”

Stan considered this. “I think...we should fly home,” he said ponderously. “I don’t think I’ve got much time left and I want to see the kids again.”

Ford nodded, swallowing hard and putting on a smile. “Alright. Alright, Stan, we’ll fly home as soon as you’re discharged.”

He hesitated, then ruffled Stan’s hair affectionately. “Now get some rest. You need to recover from your splenectomy. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Stan smiled. “Thanks, bro.” He closed his eyes and before long, he was asleep.

And that was when Ford clamped his hand over his mouth and let the tears roll silently down his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave some kindness in the comments if you enjoyed this!


	8. Et Cessabit Coram Tempestate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stanley gets out of the hospital. He and Stanford explore Esbjerg until it's time to go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beep boop so it's been four months since I updated, I'm so sorry  
> Warning for hospital settings and mentions of surgery

The second day Stanley was in the hospital, Ford decided he would head out to the post office and pick up the sweaters that Mabel sent them. The errand didn’t take long, and soon he was back again with the package to show Stan. “Stanley,” he said quietly as he entered Stan’s room, “look what I have.”

Stanley’s pale face broke into a broad grin. “You got ‘em, Sixer?”

“Yes, I did. Here, let me open it so we can see what she gave us.”

Ford sat down next to Stan’s bed and quickly opened the large, thick package. Inside were two big, fluffy sweaters, one blue and one red. The blue one had a picture of an octopus on it and it said ‘Free Hugs!’ The red one had a picture of a dog on it and said ‘Ruff and Tumble’.

Stan immediately snatched the red sweater up. “Of course this one was meant for me,” he said, holding it close. “You can give out the free hugs; I don’t believe in free anything!”

Ford chuckled and fondled the material under his fingers. “I never would have considered myself the ‘free hugs’ type of person, but it seems Mabel might have me pegged,” he joked.

His brother’s eyes narrowed at that. “I didn’t think you were the hugging type either, nerd.”

The scientist shrugged. “What can I say? I can’t exactly turn down our niece’s gift, and I would never pass up a Mabel hug.” He shot a grin at Stan. “Or a Stanley hug, either.”

“Eh. If I could get out of this bed I’d show you a Stanley hug.” But he was smiling.

* * *

Finally, after another two days, Stanley was discharged from the hospital with a list of things he wasn’t supposed to do. He almost chucked the list in the trash on the way out the door, but Ford snatched it from his hands and folded it carefully in his pocket. “Stanley,” he hissed. “Try to take this seriously.”

“I’d take this seriously if I thought it was something to be serious about,” Stanley replied casually. “Ugh, is queasiness a side-effect of this spleentomy or whatever? ‘Cause I’m feelin’ kinda green.”

“It’s  _ splenectomy, _ Stanley, and yes, nausea is a completely normal side-effect of abdominal surgery.” Stanford glanced at his brother, who did in fact look a little sick. “Just...take some deep breaths,” he said.

Stan was quiet, supposedly doing what Ford suggested (for once), giving Ford another opportunity to speak. “I tried to book a flight,” he commented, “but apparently Stanford Pines is a flight risk now.”

The younger twin coughed loudly. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely, “that’s a bit of a long story.”

“Well, long story or not, we can’t fly home on a public plane. Instead, Fiddleford is coming to get us on his private jet.”

“McGucket has a private jet?” Stan exclaimed.

“Yes. I mean, he  _ is _ incredibly wealthy now,” Ford chuckled. “Anyway, he’ll be here in a few hours, so we have some time we can spend in the city if you’d like.”

Stan’s face lit up. “Really?”

“Yes really.” Ford didn’t try to hide his smile at Stan’s eager expression. “Maybe while we’re looking around, we can find something to bring back for the kids.”

Stan nudged his brother affectionately with his elbow. “That sounds like a great idea, poindexter.”

The pair walked slowly through the city, looking into shop windows and smiling at people walking their dogs.

“Oh!” Stan suddenly exclaimed, pointing to a small store, called “ Små Ting” . It had a lot of pretty handmade things in the window. “Mabel would love something from there!” He grinned at Ford. “Let’s look around!”

Ford was practically dragged inside by his eager brother, who immediately started perusing the neatly arranged shelves. He picked up a small, intricately carved and painted wooden duck and smiled. “This would make her happy,” he said thoughtfully, before his eyes fell on a bin of yarn. “Oh, man!” he grinned, setting down the trinket and making a beeline for the bin. “This is so soft--imagine the sweaters she’d make.”

With crossed arms and a pleased expression, Ford stood back and watched as his brother wandered from one thing to another, babbling about Mabel. At last, his brother was happy again. Perhaps things really were going to get better.

“Ford!” Stan suddenly hissed in his ear. “Let’s go!”

“What?”

“Go! Now!” Stan grabbed Ford’s arm and dragged him out of the shop. “Around the corner! Down the street, through the alley….”

“Stan, what’s happening?...Did you memorize an escape route?”

“Yeah, always do. Keep moving!” Stan pulled them through the alley and around another corner. “Anyway, I may or may not have lifted some yarn, and the shopkeep was onto me.”

“Stanley!” Ford scolded.

“What? I wasn’t gonna pay an arm and a leg for a ball of string!” Stan protested.

“Alright, well…” Ford sighed. “It doesn’t matter now, I suppose. Come on, let’s look around for something for Dipper.”

“Okay, just...gimme a sec.” Stan leaned against a wall and took a few deep breaths. “Ugh,” he said. “This whole surgery thing is a pain in the….” He grinned at Ford. “...Spleen.”

Ford rolled his eyes.

* * *

The pair headed farther into the city, stopping in numerous stores and shops. Stanford eventually found a very nice (and fairly expensive) fountain pen which he thought Dipper would enjoy, and a few minutes later his phone beeped. “It’s Fiddleford,” he explained. “He’ll be landing shortly.”

“Great,” Stan said as sirens began to wail, “I can’t wait to get outta here.”

Half an hour later found the twins climbing into Fiddleford’s modest private jet--or, at least, a jet which was as modest as a private jet could be. “Huh,” Stan remarked, bouncing cautiously on one of the seats. “This is a pretty cushy plane you’ve got yourself.”

Fiddleford poured two glasses of champagne, handing one to Stanford and keeping the other for himself. “Thank you, them Northwesties sold it ta me with the mansion.”

“Wasn’t that nice of them?” Ford commented serenely, sipping from the flute.

“Hey,” blustered Stan, eyeing the champagne flutes with some indignance. “Why don’t I get any?”

“Because, Stanley,” Ford replied, smacking away Stan’s wandering hand, “the doctors don’t want you drinking after your surgery and you know how you get around alcohol.”

“Well, I’m dyin’ anyway. A man should never meet his maker sober.”

“Stanley!” Stanford stared in wide-eyed horror at his twin. “You’re not going to be dying right this minute--and not any time soon, if I can help it--so keep your hands away from that bottle of champagne!”

“Ah, c’mon, Stanferd,” Fiddleford cut in, “we can indulge him this once, can’t we? I won’t even pour a full glass.”

Ford sighed, unable to refuse. “Alright. Fine. Half a glass.”

Stan grumbled but didn’t outright argue as Fiddleford poured him half a glass of champagne. Ford took that as a step in the right direction.

The three men chatted amiably for nearly an hour before Fiddleford asked, “So, Stanferd, have ya figgered out what that sea monster’s doin’?”

“I--what?”

“The Leviathan,” Stan said. “The big ugly monster thing that has weird dee-nahs?”

“DNA,” Ford corrected automatically, before adding, “that’s right. The Leviathan.

“No, I haven’t uncovered that mystery yet--but, as Stan said, its DNA is unlike anything I’ve ever seen! I just don’t quite know what it  _ does _ yet, or why it’s there.”

Fiddleford’s brow creased in a frown. “This whole ordeal is mighty peculiar, Stanferd.”

“What do you mean?”

Thin, gnarled fingers stroked through the trimmed white beard thoughtfully. “Well, it wasn’t until ya found out Stanley was sick that ya found the Leviathan. If’n ya ask me, I’d say it was  _ drawn  _ ta him.”

Stan let out an amused noise. “I tried to tell you this, Sixer, but you wouldn’t listen. It’s here because of  _ me. _ ”

Ford looked between the two men. “I still don’t understand  _ why. _ Why would a sea monster of unfathomable horror be attracted to my twin brother?”

Fiddleford shrugged. “Beats me.” He took a sip of champagne. “Why don’t we focus on somethin’ else? Like the welcome party y’all are going to receive when we land.”

Stan’s head whipped to stare at his brother. “Welcome party?”

“Yep,” Fiddleford continued, “the whole town’s gonna be out ta celebrate yer return. And the li’l munchkins’ll be there, too.”

“The kids?” Stan gasped. “Really?”

Ford couldn’t help the pleased grin that brightened his face when he saw the excited expression Stan wore. “Yes, really,” he replied. “They’re incredibly excited to see you.”

“ _ They’re  _ excited?” Stan nearly shouted. “I’m over the moon!”

“Well, don’t go jumpin’ outta the plane,” Fiddleford chuckled. “We still got some miles ta go yet.”

* * *

Finally, finally, the jet landed on the private strip Fiddleford had obtained at the nearby airport. A chauffeur waited for them outside with a sleek black limousine. When Stanley stared incredulously at the vehicle, Fiddleford shrugged. “Figgered ya’d want ta travel in style.” Stan had no qualms after that.

The ride to town took way too long. Stanley was jittery with impatience, and Stanford tapped his fingers nervously on the window. Fiddleford held Stanford’s other hand gently, but it did little to quell his rising anxiety.

Something was going to go wrong. He knew it.

But Stanley seemed confident. He was energetic, right back in his element, as soon as the limousine pulled to a halt and the doors opened to a mass of vaguely familiar faces. Stanley grinned and chattered to the clamoring masses, and Stanford held back.

Then, “Grunkle Stan! Grunkle Ford!” and two small people leapt out of the masses.

“Woah, careful with the merchandise there, sweetie,” Stan laughed, pulling Mabel back.

“That’s right! You had surgery! I’m sorry,” she apologized.

“No worries, I don’t think ya broke me.”

Mabel giggled. “I should hope not! We need you in one piece for the party!” She grabbed hold of his hand and dragged him further into the crowd.

Dipper flung himself at Stanford. “Great-Uncle Ford! How are you? Did you get pictures? Did you have a safe trip?”

“Woah, slow down,” Ford smiled. “We’re fine, if a little jet-lagged. We only managed one photo, but our flight here was fine.” He hugged the boy. “It’s good to see you.”

Dipper hugged him back. “It’s good to see you too.” He looked over at Stan, who had Mabel on his shoulders and was talking to Soos. “Grunkle Stan seems to be doing okay.”

Ford nodded. He didn’t want to speak his worries to the thirteen-year-old.

_ He’s doing okay _ , he told himself.

_ For now,  _ he added.

* * *

The party was… long. It was exhausting. It was loud, and big, and full, and hot, and at one point it had to move inside Fiddleford’s mansion because it started downpouring rain, but the one thing it was most of all was welcoming.

It was, in fact, the most welcoming welcome party Stanley had ever experienced.

When the clock struck midnight, the crowds dispersed and Dipper, Mabel, Stanley, Stanford, and Fiddleford were finally left alone with the ‘good-byes’ of the guests still ringing in their ears. All five of them slumped on a sofa, exhausted but unwilling to let go of each other.

“I’m gonna work at the Shack again,” Stanley stated out of the blue.

“Why?” Stanford asked.

“Because… I wanna be back where I belong.”

Stanford nodded. “Okay.”

A few minutes passed. Dipper and Mabel snuggled closer to Stan’s sides and, yawning, dozed off. Fiddleford snored quietly beside Ford.

The atmosphere was relaxed, quiet, and cool, dim slivers of moonlight shining through the tall windows. Stanford stared out at the moon and the stars, quietly remembering things from long ago.

A broad arm reached out and tugged him closer. He turned his head to see Stan’s face smiling at him. “Hey,” his twin said quietly. “I can hear ya thinkin’.”

Ford nodded and directed his gaze back to the cosmos.

The room was quiet once more. One could almost hear the stars turning.

“I remember a lot of things now,” Stanley said, his voice distant. “I remember that time we were out huntin’ the Jersey Devil. We found it, remember? The moon was real bright and we could see the thing, right out there in the open.”

Stanford felt his own chest vibrate with a chuckle. “Nobody ever believed us. I was so angry.” He sighed. “Now, the whole thing is so… normal to me, that I barely bat an eye at the paranormal anymore. Now… the natural seems supernatural.”

Stanley nodded. “Yeah. It does,” he said. “But… it’s gonna be okay.” He tapped Ford’s face until he looked at him. “I promise.”

“O… okay.” Stanford closed his eyes and leaned against his brother, taking comfort in his solidness, his  _ there _ ness.

Outside, the world continued to turn. It was silent. And, for once, so were Stanford’s thoughts.

Before he knew it, he was asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will not take four months, I swear  
> Leave some kindness in the comments if you don't hate me :)

**Author's Note:**

> Please don't hate me! Leave kudos if you liked, and maybe a review! I'd love to hear feedback.


End file.
